II! 


Historical  Dramas 

i 

WILHELM    TELL 
DON    CARLOS 

DEMETRIUS  | 

I 

BY 

FRIEDERICH    SCHILLER 

VOLUME   I 

ILtfcrarp  attrition 


NEW    YORK: 

|Blate  Eenttng  Co* 


CONTENTS. 


•MB 

WILHELM  TBLL    .  6 

DON  CARLOS •      •       •       •   10 

DEMETRIUS  «       .       •       •       •    337 


208791 1 


WILHELM  TELL. 


People  of  Schwytz. 


People  of  Uri. 


DEAMATIS  PERSONS. 

HERMANN  GESSLER,  Governor  of  Schwytz  and  Uri. 

WERNER,  Baron  of  Attinghausen,  free  noble  of  Switzerland. 

ULRICH  VON  RUDENZ,  his  Nephew. 

WERNER  STAUFFACHER, 

CONRAD  HUNN, 

HANS  AUF  DER  MAUER, 

JORQ  IM  HOPE, 

ULRICH  DER  SCHMIDT, 

JOST  VON  WEILER, 

ITEL  REDING, 

WALTER  FURST, 

WILHELM  TELL, 

ROSSELMANN,  the  Priest, 

PETERMANN,  Sacristan, 

KUONI,  Herdsman, 

WERNI,  Huntsman, 

RUODI,  Fisherman, 

ARNOLD  OF  MELCHTHAL, 

CONRAD  BAUMGARTEN, 

MEYER  VON  SARNEN, 

STRUTH  VON  WINKELRIED, 

KLAUS  VON  DER  FLUE, 

BURKHART  AM  BUHEL, 

ARNOLD  VON  SEWA, 

PFEIFFER  OF  LUCERNE. 

KUNZ  OF  GERSAU. 

JENNI,  Fisherman's  Son. 

SEPPI,  Herdsman's  Son. 

GERTRUDK,  Stauffacher's  Wife. 

HEDWIG,  Wife  of  Tell,  daughter  of  Furst. 

BERTHA  OF  BRUNECK,  a  rich  heiress.. 


People  of  Unterwald, 


6 


WILHELM   TELL. 


Peasant  women. 


TelVs  sons. 


Soldiers. 


ARMGABT, 

MECHTHILD, 

ELSBETH, 

HlLDEGAKD, 

WALTER, 

WILHELM, 

FKIESSHAKDT, 

LEUTHOLD, 

KUDOLPH  DEII  HARRAS,  Gessler's  master  of  the  horse. 

JOHANNES  PARRICIDA,  Duke  of  Suabia. 

STUSSI,  Overseer. 

THE  MAYOR  OF  Uxf 

A  COURIER. 

MASTER  STONEMASON,  COMPANIONS,  AND  WORKMEN. 

TASKMASTER. 

A  CRIER. 

MONKS  OF  THE  ORDER  OF  CHARITY. 

HORSEMEN  OF  GESSLER  AND  LANDENBERG. 

MANY  PEASANTS  j  MEN  AND  WOMEN  FROM  THE  WAI/OCTETTE* 


WILHELM  TELL. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

1  high,  rocky  shore  of  the  lake  of  Lucerne  opposite  Schwytz.  The 
lake  makes  a  bend  into  the  land  ;  a  hut  stands  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  shore;  the  fisher  boy  is  rowing  about  in  his  boat. 
Beyond  *he  lake  are  seen  the  green  meadows,  the  hamlets,  and 
farms  of  Schwytz,  lying  in  the  clear  sunshine.  On  the  left  are 
observed  the  peaks  of  the  Hacken,  surrounded  icith  clouds ;  to 
the  right,  and  in  the  remote  distance,  appear  the  Glaciers.  The 
Ham  des  Vaches,  and  the  tinkling  of  cattle-bells,  continue  for 
some  time  after  the  rising  of  the  curtain. 

FISHER  BOY  (sings  in  his  boat). 
Mdody  of  the  Ranz  des  Vaches. 
The  clear,  smiling  lake  wooed  to  bathe  in  its  deep, 
A  boy  on  its  green  shore  had  laid  him  to  sleep ; 
Then  heard  he  a  melody 

Flowing  and  soft, 
And  sweet,  as  when  angels 

Are  singing  aloft. 

And  as  thrilling  with  pleasure  he  wakes  from  his  rest. 
The  waters  are  murmuring  over  his  breast; 
And  a  voice  from  the  deep  cries, 

"  With  me  thou  must  go, 
I  charm  the  young  shepherd, 
I  lure  him  below." 

HERDSMAN  (on  the  mountains). 
Air.  —  Variation  of  the  Ranz  des  Vaches 
Farewell,  ye  green  meadows, 

Farewell,  sunny  shore, 
The  herdsman  must  leave  you, 

The  summer  is  o'er. 

7 


8  WILHELM    TELL. 

We  go  to  the  hills,  but  you'll  see  us  again, 

When  the  cuckoo  is  calling,  and  wood-notes  are  gay, 
When  flowerets  are  blooming  in  dingle  and  plain, 
And  the  brooks  sparkle  up  in  the  sunshine  of  May. 
Farewell,  ye  green  meadows, 

Farewell,  sunny  shore, 
The  herdsman  must  leave  you, 
The  summer  is  o'er. 

CHAMOIS  HUNTER  (appearing  on  the  top  of  a  cliff'). 

/Second  Variation  of  the  Ranz  des  Vdches.^ 
On  the  heights  peals  the  thunder,  and  trembles  the  bridgt, 
The  huntsman  bounds  on  by  the  dizzying  ridge, 
Undaunted  he  hies  him 
O'er  ice-covered  wild, 
Where  leaf  never  budded, 
Nor  spring  ever  smiled  ; 

And  beneath  him  an  ocean  of  mist,  where  his  eye 
No  longer  the  dwellings  of  man  can  espy; 
Through  the  parting  clouds  only 

The  earth  can  be  seen, 

Far  down  'neath  the  vapor 

The  meadows  of  green. 

[A  change  comes  over  the  landscape.     A  rumbling, 
cracking   noise  is   heard  among  the  mountains. 
Shadows  of  clouds  sweep  across  the  scene. 
[Ruooi,  the  fisherman,  comes   out  of  his   cottage. 
WERSTI,  the  huntsman,  descends  from  the  rocks. 
KUONI,  the  shepherd,  enters,  with  a  milk-pail  on 
his  shoulders,  followed  by  SEPPI,  his  assistant. 
RUODI.     Bestir  thee,  Jenni,  haul  the  boat  on  shore. 

The    grizzly    Vale-king*    comes,   the    glaciers 

moan, 

The  lofty  Mytensteint  draws  on  his  hood, 
And  from  the  Stormcleft  chilly  blows  the  wind ; 
The  storm  will  burst  before  we  are  prepared. 

*  The  German  is  Thalvogt,  Ruler  of  the  Valley —  the  name  given  figura- 
tively to  a  dense  gray  mist  which  the  south  wind  sweeps  into  the  valleys  from 
the  mountain  tops.  It  is  well  known  as  the  precursor  of  stormy  weather. 

t  A  steep  rock  standing  on  the  north  of  Riitli,  and  nearly  opposite  to 
Bruraen. 


WTLHELM    TELL. 

Kuoxi.    'Twill  rain  ere  long  ;  my  sheep  browse  eagerly, 

And  Watcher  there  is  scraping  up  the  earth. 
WERNI.  The  fish  are  leaping,  and  the  water-hen 

Dives  up  and  down.     A  storm  is  coming  on. 
KUONI  (to  Ms  boy). 

Look,  Seppi,  if  the  cattle  are  not  straying. 
SEPPI.      There  goes  brown  Liesel,  I  can  hear  her  bells. 
KUONI.     Then  all  are  safe  ;  she    ever  ranges  farthest. 
RUODI.     You've  a  fine  yoke  of  bells  there,  master  herds- 
man. 

WERNI.  And  likely  cattle,  too.     Are  they  your  own  ? 
KUONI.    I'm  not  so  rich.     They  are  the  noble  lord's 

Of  Attinghaus,  and  trusted  to  my  care. 
RUODI.     How  gracefully  yon  heifer  bears  her  ribbon  ! 
KUONI.    Ay,  well  she  knows  she's  leader  of  the  herd, 

And,  take  it  from  her,  she'd  refuse  to  feed. 
RUODI.     You're  joking  now.     A  beast  devoid  of  reason. 
WEKNI.  That's  easy  said.     But  beasts  have  reason  too  — 

And   that   we   know,   we  men   that   hunt    the 
chamois. 

They  never  turn  to  feed  —  sagacious  creatures! 

Till  they  have  placed  a  sentinel  ahead, 

Who  pricks  his  ears  whenever  we  approach, 

And  gives  alarm  with  clear  and  piercing  pipe. 
RUODI  (to  the  shepherd). 

Are  you  for  home  ? 

KUONI.  The  Alp  is  grazed  quite  bare. 

WERNI.  A  safe  return,  my  friend  ! 
KUONI.  The  same  to  you(? 

Men   come  not  always  back  from   tracks   like 

yours. 

RUODI.     But  who  comes  here,  running  at  topmost  speed  ? 
WERNI.  I  know  the  man  ;  'tis  Baumgart  of  Alzellen. 
CONRAD  BAUMGARTEN  (rushing  in  breathless). 

For  God's  sake,  ferryman,  your  boat ! 
RUODI.  How  now? 

Why  all  this  haste  ? 
BAUM.  Cast  off !    My  life's  at  stake ! 

Set  me  across ! 

KUONI.  Wliy,  what's  the  matter,  friend  ? 

WERNI.  Who  are  pursuing  you  ?    First  tell  us  that. 


10 


WILHELM    TELL. 


BAUM.  (to  the  fisherman) . 

Quick,  quick,  even  now  they're  close  upon  my 

heels ! 

The  viceroy's  horsemen  are  in  hot  pursuit ! 
I'm  a  lost  man  should  they  lay  hands  upon  me. 

RUODI.     Why  are  the  troopers  in  pursuit  of  you  ? 

BAUM.      First  save  my  life  and  then  I'll  tell  you  all. 

WERNI.  There's  blood    upon    your   garments  —  how   is 
this? 

BAUM.      The  imperial  seneschal,  who  dwelt  at  Rossberg. 

KUONI.     How!    What!     The  Wolfshot?*     Is  it  he  pur- 
sues you  ? 

BAUM.      He'll  ne'er  hunt  man  again  ;  I've  settled  him. 

ALL  (starting  back). 

Now,  God  forgive  you,  what  is  this  you've  done  ! 

BAUM.      What  every  free  man  in  my  place  had  done. 

I  have  but  used  mine  own  good  household  right 
'Gainst  him  that  would  have  wronged  my  wife  — 
my  honor. 

KUONI.    And  has  he  wronged  you  in  your  honor,  then  ? 

BAUM.     That  he  did  not  fulfil  his  foul  desire 
Is  due  to  God  and  to  my  trusty  axe. 

WERNI.  You've  cleft  his  skull,  then,  have"  you,  with  your 
axe? 

KUONI.    Oh,  tell  us  all !     You've  time  enough,  before 

The  boat  can  be  unfastened  from  its  moorings. 

BAUM.      When  I  was  in  the  forest,  felling  timber, 
My  wife  came  running  out  in  mortal  fear 
"  The  seneschal,"  she  said,  "  was  in  my  house, 
Had  ordered  her  to  get  a  bath  prepared, 
And  thereupon  had  taken  unseemly  fi'eedoms, 
From  which  she  rid  herself  and  flew  to  me." 
Armed  as  I  was  I  sought  him,  and  my  axe 
Has  given  his  bath  a  bloody  benediction. 

WERNI.  And  you  did  well ;  no  man  can  blame  the  deed. 

KUONI.    The  tyrant!     Now  he  has  his  just  reward! 
We  men  of  Unterwald  have  owed  it  long. 

*  In  German,  Wolfensclilessen  —  a  young  man  of  noble  family,  and  a 
native  of  Unterwalden,  who  attached  himself  to  the  house  of  Austria  and 
was  appointed  Jluryvoyt,  or  senesuhal,  of  the  castle  of  Kossberg.  He  was 
killed  by  Baumgarteu  'in  the  manner  and  for  the  cause  mentioned  in  the 
text. 


WILHELM   TELL.  11 

BAUM.     The  deed  got  wind,  and  now  they're  in  pursuit. 

Heavens !  whilst  we  speak,  th  etime  is  flying  fast. 

[It  begins  to  thunder. 

Kuoxi.    Quick,  ferrymen,  and  set  the  good  man  over. 
RUODI.     Impossible  !  a  storm  is  close  at  hand, 

Wait  till  it  pass  !     You  must. 
BAUM.  Almighty  heavens ! 

I  cannot  wait ;  the  least  delay  is  death. 
Kuoxi  (to  the  fisherman} . 

Push  out.    God  with  you !    We  should  help  our 
neighbors ; 

The  like  misfortune  may  betide  us  all. 

[  Thunder  and  the  roaring  of  the  wind. 
RUODI.     The  south  wind's  up !  *     See  how  the  lake  is 
rising ! 

I  cannot  steer  against  both  storm  and  wave. 
BAUM.  (clasping  him  by  the  knees). 

God  so  help  you,  as  now  you  pity  me ! 
WERNI.  His  life's  at  stake.     Have  pity  on  him,  man ! 
Kuoxi.    He  is  a  father :  has  a  wife  and  children. 

[Repeated  peals  of  thunder. 
RUODI.     What !  and  have  I  not,  then,  a  life  to  lose, 

A  wife  and  child  at  home  as  well  as  he  ? 

See,  how  the  breakers  foam,  and  toss,  and  whirl, 

And  the  lake  eddies  up  from  all  its  depths! 

Right  gladly  would  I  save  the  worthy  man, 

But  'tis  impossible,  as  you  must  see. 
BAUM.  (stitt  kneeling). 

Then  must  I  fall  into  the  tyrant's  hands, 

And  with  the  port  of  safety  close  in  sight ! 

Yonder  it  lies  !     My  eyes  can  measure  it, 

My  very  voice  can  echo  to  its  shores. 

There  is  the  boat  to  carry  me  across, 

Yet  must  I  lie  here  helpless  and  forlorn. 
KUCXNT.    Look !  who  comes  here  ? 


*  Literally,  the  FoJin  is  loose  !  "  When,"  says  Mutter,  in  his  History  of 
Switzerland,  "  the  wind  called  the  Fohn  is  high  the  navigation  of  the  lake 
becomes  extremely  dangerous.  Such  is  its  vehemence  that  the  laws  of  the 
country  require  that  the  tires  shall  b.-  extinguished  in  the  houses  while  it 
lasts,  and  the  night  watches  are  doubled.  The  inhabitants  lay  heavy  stones 
upon  the  roofs  of  their  houses  to  prevent  their  being  blown  away." 


12 


WILHELM   TELL. 


RUODI.  'Tis  Tell,  brave  Tell,  of  Biirglen.* 

[Enter  TELL,  with  a  crossbow. 

TELL.      Who  is  the  man  that  here  implores  for  aid  ? 
KUONI.    He  is  from  Alzellen,  and  to  guard  his  honor 

From  touch  of  foulest  shame,  has  slain  the  Wolf- 
shot ! 

The  imperial  seneschal,  who  dwelt  at  Rossberg 

The  viceroy's  troopers  are  upon  his  heels ; 

He  begs  the  boatman  here  to  take  him  over, 

But  he,  in  terror  of  the  storm,  refuses. 
RUODI.     Well,  there  is  Tell  can  steer  as  well  as  I. 

He'll  be  my  judge,  if  it  be  possible. 

[  Violent  peals  of  thunder  —  the  lake  becomes 
more  tempestuous. 

Am  I  to  plunge  into  the  jaws  of  hell? 

I  should  be  mad  to  dare  the  desperate  act. 
TELL.      The  brave  man  thinks  upon  himself  the  last. 

Put  trust  in  God,  and  help  him  in  his  need  ! 
RUODI.     Safe  in  the  port,  'tis  easy  to  advise. 

There  is  the  boat,  and  there  the  lake  !    Try  you  ! 
TELL.       The  lake  may  pity,  but  the  viceroy  will  not. 

Come,  venture,  man  ! 
SHEPHERD  and  HUNTSMAN. 

Oh,  save  him!  save  him  !   save  him  ! 
RUODI.     Though  'twere  my  brother,  or  my  darling  child, 

I  would  not  go.     It  is  St.  Simon's  day, 

The  lake  is  up,  and  calling  for  its  victim. 
TELL.       Naught's  to  be  done  with  idle  talking  here. 

Time  presses  on — the  man  must  be  assisted. 

Say,  boatman,  will  you  venture? 

RUODI.  No  ;  not  I. 

TELL.       In  God's  name,  then,  give  me  the  boat !     I  will 

With  my  poor  strength,  see  what  is  to  be  done ! 
KUONI.     Ha,  noble  Tell ! 

WERNI.  That's  like  a  gallant  huntsman  t 

BAUM.      You  are  my  angel,  my  preserver,  Tell. 
TELL.       I  may  preserve  you  from  the  viceroy's  power 

But  from  the  tempest's  rage  another  must. 


*  Bttrglen,  the  birthplace  anil  residence  of  Tell.    A  chapel  erected  in 
1522  remains  on  the  spot  formerly  occupied  by  his  house. 


WILHELM    TELL.  13 

Yet  you  had  better  fall  into  God's  hands, 

Than  into  those  of  men.  [  To  the  herdsman. 

Herdsman,  do  thou 

Console  my  wife,  should  aught  of  ill  befall  me. 

I  do  but  what  I  may  not  leave  undone. 

\_He  leaps  into  the  boat. 
KUONI  (to  the  fisherman) . 

A  pretty  man  to  be  a  boatman,  truly ! 

What  Tell  could  risk  you  dared  not  venture  on. 
RUODI.     Far  better  men  than  I  would  not  ape  Tell. 

There  does  not  live  his  fellow  'mong  the  moun- 
tains. 
WERNI  (who  has  ascended  a  rock). 

He  pushes  off.    God  help  thee  now,  brave  sailor  ! 

Look  how  his  bark  is  reeling  on  the  waves ! 
KUONI  (on  the  shore). 

The  surge  has  swept  clean  over  it.     And  now 

Tis  out  of  sight.     Yet  stay,  there  'tis  again  ! 

Stoutly  he  stems  the  breakers,  noble  fellow  ! 
SEPPI.      Here  come  the  troopers  hard  as  they  can  ride! 
KUONI.    Heavens !    so  they  do !      Why,  that  was  help, 
indeed. 

[Enter  a  troop  of  horsemen. 

IST  H.     Give  up  the  murderer !     You  have  him  here  ! 
2o  H.      This  way  he  came  !    'Tis  useless  to  conceal  him  ! 
RUODI  and  KUONI. 

Whom  do  you  mean  ? 
FIRST  HORSEMAN  (discovering  the  boat). 

The  devil !     What  do  I  see  ? 
WERNI  (from  above). 

Is't  he  in  yonder  boat  ye  seek  ?    Ride  on, 

If  you  lay  to,  you  may  o'ertake  him  yet. 
2o  H.      Curse  on  you,  he's  escaped  ! 
FIRST  HORSEMAN  (to  the  shepherd  and  fisherman) . 

You  helped  him  off, 

And  you  shall  pay  for  it.     Fall  on  their  herds ! 

Down  with  the  cottage!  burn  it !  beat  it  down  ! 

[  They  rush  off. 

SEPPI  (hurrying  after  them).  Oh,  my  poor  lambs! 
KUONI  (following  him).  Unhappy  me,  my  herds  ! 
WERNI.  The  tyrants ! 


14  WILHELM   TELL. 

RUODI  (wringing  his  hands). 

Righteous  Heaven  !     Oh,  when  will  come 
Deliverance  to  this  devoted  land  ? 

[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE   II. 

A  lime-tree  in  front  of  STAUFFACHKR'S  house  at  Steinen, 
in  Schwytz,  upon  the  public  road,  near  a  bridge. 

WERNER  STAUFFACHER  and  PFEIFFER,  of  Lucerne, 
enter  into  conversation. 

PFEIFF.  Ay,  ay,  friend  Stauffacher,  as  I  have  said, 
Swear  not  to  Austria,  if  you  can  help  it. 
Hold  by  the  empire  stoutly  as  of  yore, 
And  God  preserve  you  in  your  ancient  freedom  ! 
[Presses  his  hand  warmly  and  is  going. 
STAUFF.  Wait  till  my  mistress  comes.    Now  do  !    You  are 
My  guest  in  Schwytz  —  I  in  Lucerne  am  yours. 
PFEIFF.  Thanks  !   thanks  !    But  I  must  reach  Gersau  to- 
day. 

Whatever  grievances  your  rulers'  pride 
And  grasping  avarice  may  yet  inflict, 
Bear   them   in  patience  —  soon  a  change  may 

come. 

Another  emperor  may  mouht  the  throne. 
But  Austria's  once,  and  you  are  hers  forever. 

[Exit. 

[STATJFFACHER  sits  down  sorrowfully  upon  a 
bench  under  the  lime  tree.  Gertrude,  Ms 
wife,  enters,  and  finds  him  in  this  posture. 
She  places  herself  near  him,  and  looks  at 
him  for  some  time  in  silence. 

GERT.      So  sad,  my  love !     I  scarcely  know  thee  now. 
For  many  a  day  in  silence  I  have  marked 
A  moody  sorrow  furrowing  thy  brow. 
Some  silent  grief  is  weighing  on  thy  heart ; 
Trust  it  to  me.     I  am  thy  faithful  wife, 
And  I  demand  my  half  of  all  thy  cares. 
[STAUFEACHEB  gives  her  his  hand  and  is  silent, 
Tell  me  what  can  oppress  thy  spirits  thus  ? 


WILHELM    TELL.  15 

Thy  toil  is  blest  —  the  world  goes  well  with 

thee  — 

Our  barns  are  full  —  our  cattle  many  a  score; 
Our  handsome  team  of  sleek  and  well-fed  steeds, 
Brought  from  the  mountain  pastures  safely  home, 
To  winter  in  their  comfortable  stalls. 
There  stands  thy  house-  —no  nobleman's  more  fair ! 
'T is  newly  built  with  timber  of  the  best, 
All  grooved  and  fitted  with  the  nicest  skill ; 
Its  many  glistening  windows  tell  of  comfort ! 
'Tis  quartered  o'er  with  scutcheons  of  all  hues, 
And  proverbs  sage,  which  passing  travellers 
Linger  to  read,  and  ponder  o'er  their  meaning. 

STAUFF.  The  house  is  strongly  built,  and  handsomely, 

But,  ah  !  the  ground  on  which  we  built  it  totters. 

GERT.       Tell  me/dear  Werner,  what  you  mean  by  that? 

STAUFF.  Xo  later  since  than  yesterday,  I  sat 

Beneath  this  linden,  thinking  with  delight, 
How  fairly  all  was  finished,  when  from  Kfiss- 

nacht 

The  viceroy  and  his  men  came  riding  by. 
Before  this  house  he  halted  in  surprise : 
At  once  I  rose,  and,  as  beseemed  his  rank, 
Advanced  respectfully  to  greet  the  lord, 
To  whom  the  emperor  delegates  his  power, 
As  judge  supreme  within  our  Canton  here. 
"  Who  is  the  owner  of  this  house  ?  "  he  asked, 
With  mischief  in  his  thoughts,  for  well  he  knew. 
With  prompt  decision,  thus  I  answered  him : 
"  The  emperor,  your  grace  —  my  lord  and  yours, 
And  held  by  me  in  fief."     On  this  he  answered, 
"  I  am  the  emperor's  viceregent  here, 
And  will  not  that  each  peasant  churl  should  build 
At  his  own  pleasure,  bearing  him  as  freely 
As  though  he  were  the  master  in  the  land. 
I  shall  make  bold  to  put  a  stop  to  this  !  " 
So  saying  he,  with  menaces,  rode  off, 
And  left  me  musing,  with  a  heavy  heart, 
On  the  fell  purpose  that  his  words  betrayed. 

GERT.      Mine  own  dear  lord  and  husband  !     Wilt  thou 
take 


16  WILHELM    TELL. 

A  word  of  honest  counsel  from  thy  wife? 

I  boast  to  be  the  noble  Iberg's  child, 

A  man  of  wide  experience.     Many  a  time, 

As  we  sat  spinning  in  the  winter  nights, 

My  sisters  and  myself,  the  people's  chiefs 

Were  wont  to  gather  round  our  father's  hearth 

To  read  the  old  imperial  charters,  and 

To  hold  sage  converse  on  the  country's  weal. 

Then  heedfully  I  listened,  marking  well 

What  or  the  wise  men  thought,  or  good  man 

wished, 

And  garnered  up  their  wisdom  in  my  heart. 
Hear  then,  and  mark  me  well ;  for  thou  wilt  see, 
I  long  have  known  the  grief  that  weighs  thee 

down. 

The  viceroy  hates  thee,  fain  would  injure  thee, 
For  thou  hast  crossed  his  wish  to  bend  the  Swiss 
In  homage  to  this  upstart  house  of  princes, 
And  kept  them  stanch,  like  their  good  sires  of 

old, 

In  true  allegiance  to  the  empire.     Say. 
Is't  not  so,  Werner?     Tell  me,  am  I  wrong? 
STAUFP.  'Tis  even  so.     For  this  doth  Gessler  hate  me. 
GERT.      He  burns  with  envy,  too,  to  see  thee  living 
Happy  and  free  on  thy  inheritance, 
For  he  has  none.     From  the  emperor  himself 
Thou  boldest  in  fief  the  lands  thy  fathers  left 

thee. 

There's  not  a  prince  in  the  empire  that  can  show 
A  better  title  to  his  heritage ; 
For  thou  hast  over  thee  no  lord  but  one, 
And  he  the  mightiest  of  all  Christian  kings. 
Gessler,  we  know,  is  but  a  younger  son, 
His  only  wealth  the  knightly  cloak  he  wears; 
He  therefore  views  an  honest  man's  good  fortune 
With  a  malignant  and  a  jealous  eye. 
Long  has  he  sworn  to  compass  thy  destruction 
As  yet  thou  art  uninjured.     Wilt  thou  wait 
Till  he  may  safely  give  his  malice  scope? 
A  wise  man  would  anticipate  the  blow. 
STAUFF.  What's  to  be  done? 


WILHELM   TELL.  17 

GEBT.  Now  hear  what  I  advise. 

Thou  knowest  well,  how  here  with  us  in  Schwytz, 
All  worthy  men  are  groaning  underneath 
This  Gessler's  grasping,  grinding  tyranny. 
Doubt  not  the  men  of  Unterwald  as  well, 
And  Uri,  too,  are  chafing  like  ourselves, 
At  this  oppressive  and  heart-wearying  yoke, 
For  there,  across  the  lake,  the  Landenberg 
Wields  the  same  iron  rule  as  Gessler  here  — 
No  fishing-boat  comes  over  to  our  side 
But  brings  the  tidings  of  some  new  encroach- 
ment, 

Some  outrage  fresh,  more  grievous  than  the  last. 
Then  it  were  well  that  some  of  you  —  true  men  — 
Men  sound  at  heart,  should  secretly  devise 
How  best  to  shake  this  hateful  thraldom  off. 
Well  do  I  know  that  God  would  not  desert  you, 
But  lend  his  favor  to  the  righteous  cause. 
Hast  thou  no  friend  in  Uri,  say,  to  whom 
Thou  frankly  may'st  unbosom  all  thy  thoughts? 
STAUFP.  I  know  full  many  a  gallant  fellow  there, 

And  nobles,  too,  — great  men,  of  high  repute, 
In  whom  I  can  repose  unbounded  trust.   [Rising. 
Wife!     What   a   storm    of   wild    and   perilous 

thoughts 

Hast  thou  stirred  up  within  my  tranquil  breast  ? 
The  darkest  musings  of  my  bosom  thou 
Hast  dragged  to  light,  and  placed  them  full  be- 
fore me. 

And  what  I  scarce  dared  harbor  e'en  in  thought, 
Thou  speakest  plainly  out,  with  fearless  tongue. 
But  hast  thou  weighed  well  what  thou  urgest 

thus? 

Discord  will  come,  and  the  fierce  clang  of  arms, 
To  scare  this  valley's  long  unbroken  peace, 
If  we,  a  feeble  shepherd  race,  shall  dare 
Him  to  the  fight  that  lords  it  o'er  the  world. 
Even  now  they  only  wait  some  fair  pretext 
For  setting  loose  their  savage  warrior  hordes, 
To  scourge  and  ravage  this  devoted  land, 
To  lord  it  o'er  us  with  the  victor's  rights, 


18  WILHELM    TELL. 

And  'neath  the  show  of  lawful  chastisement, 

Despoil  us  of  our  chartered  liberties. 
GEET.      You,  too,  are  men;  can  wield  a  battle-axe 

As  well  as  they.     God  ne'er  deserts  the  brave. 
STAUFF.  Oh  wife  !  a  horrid,  ruthless  fiend  is  war, 

That  strikes  at  once  the  shepherd  and  his  flock. 
GERT.       Whate'er  great  heaven  inflicts  we  must  endure ; 

No  heart  of  noble  temper  brooks  injustice. 
STAUFF.  -This  house  —  thy  pride  —  war,  unrelenting  war, 

Will  burn  it  down. 
GERT.  And  did  I  think  this  heart 

Enslaved  and  fettered  to  the  things  of  earth, 

With  my  own  hand  I'd  hurl  the  kindling  torch. 
STAUFF.  Thou  hast  faith  in  human  kindness,  wife  ;  but  war 

Spares  not  the  tender'infant  in  its  cradle. 
GERT.       There  is  a  friend  to  innocence  in  heaven  ! 

Look  forward,  Werner  —  not  behind  you,  now! 
STAUFF.  We  men  may  perish  bravely,  sword  in  hand  ; 

But  oh,  what  fate,  my  Gertrude,  may  be  thine? 
GERT.      None  are  so  weak,  but  one  last  choice  is  left. 

A  spring  from  yonder  bridge,  and  I  am  free  ! 
STAUFF.  (embracing  her). 

Well  may  he  fight  for  hearth  and  home  that 
clasps 

A  heart  so  rare  as  thine  against  his  own ! 

What  are  the  hosts  of  emperors  to  him  ! 

Gertrude,  farewell !     I  will  to  Uri  straight. 

There  lives  my  worthy  comrade,  Walter  Furst , 

His  thoughts  and  mine  upon  these  times  are  one. 

There,  too,  resides  the  noble  Banneret 

Of  Attinghaus.     High  though  of  blood  he  be, 

He  loves  the  people,  honors  their  old  customs. 

With  both  of  these  I  will  take  counsel  how 

To  rid  us  bravely  of  our  country's  foe. 

Farewell !  and  while  I  am  away,  bear  thou 

A  watchful  eye  in  management  at  home. 

The  pilgrim  journeying  to  the  house  of  God, 

And  pious  monk,  collecting  for  his  cloister, 

To  these  give  liberally  from  purse  and  garner. 

Stauffacher's  house  would  not  be  hid.     Right 
out 


WILHELM    TELL.  19 

Upon  the  public  way  it  stands,  and  offers 

To  all  that  pass  an  hospitable  roof. 

[  While  they  are  retiring,  TELL  enters  with  BAUMGARTEN. 
TELL.       Now,  then,  you  have  no  further  need  of  nie. 

Enter  yon  house.     'Tis  Werner  Stauffacher's, 

A  man  that  is  a  father  to  distress. 

See,  there  he  is  himself !     Come,  follow  me. 

[  They  retire  up.     Scene  changes. 

SCENE  III. 

A  common  near  Altdorf.  On  an  eminence  in  the  background  a 
castle  in  progress  of  erection,  and  so  far  advanced  that  the 
outline  of  the  whole  may  be  distinguished.  The  back  pait  is 
finished;  men  are  working  at  the  front.  Scaffolding,  on  wliicli 
the  workmen  are  going  tip  and  down.  A  slater  is  seen  upon  the 
highest  part  of  the  roof.  All  is  bustle  and  activity. 

TASKMASTER,  MASON,  WORKMEN,  and  LABORERS. 

TASK,  (with  a  stick,  urging  on  the  icorkmen). 

Up,  up  !    You've  rested  long  enough.  To  work  ! 

The  stones  here,  now  the  mortar,  and  the  lime ! 

And  let  his  lordship  see  the  work  advanced 

When  next  he  comes.     These  fellows  crawl  like 
snails ! 

[  To  two  laborers  ^c^th  loads. 

What !  call  ye  that  a  load  ?     Go,  double  it. 

Is  this  the  way  ye  earn  your  wages,  laggards  ? 
IST  W.    'Tis  very  hard  that  we  must  bear  the  stones, 

To  make  a  keep  and  dungeon  for  ourselves  ! 
TASK.       What's   that   you   mutter?      'Tis   a   worthless 
race, 

And  fit  for  nothing  but  to  milk  their  cows, 

And  saunter  idly  up  and  down  the  mountains. 
OLD  MAN  (sinks  down  exhausted). 

I  can  no  more. 
TASK,  (shaking  him). 

Up,  up,  old  man,  to  work ! 
IST  W.    Have  you  no  bowels  of  compassion,  thus 

To  press  so  hard  upon  a  poor  old  man, 

That  scarce  can  drag  his  feeble  limbs  along  ? 


20 


WILHELM   TELL. 


MASTER  MASON  and  WORKMEN. 

Shame,  shame  upon  you  —  shame !     It  cries  to 

heaven  ! 

TASK.       Mind  your  own  business.     I  but  do  my  duty. 
IST  W.   Pray,  master,  what's  to  be  the  name  of  this 

Same  castle  when  'tis  built? 
TASK.  The  keep  of  Uri ; 

For  by  it  we  shall  keep  you  in  subjection. 
WORK.    The  keep  of  Uri. 

TASK.  Well,  why  laugh  at  that  ? 

2o  W.      So  you'll  keep  Uri  with  this  paltry  place ! 
IST  W.    How  many  molehills  such  as  that  must  first 
Be  piled  above  each  other  ere  you  make 
A  mountain  equal  to  the  least  in  Uri  ? 

[TASKMASTER  retires  up  the  stage. 
MAS.  M.  I'll  drown  the  mallet  in  the  deepest  lake, 

That  served  my  hand  on  this  accursed  pile. 

[Enter  TELL  and  STAUFF  ACHER- 
STAUFF.  Oh,  that  I  had  not  lived  to  see  this  sight ! 
TELL.       Here  'tis  not  good  to  be.     Let  us  proceed. 
STAUFF.  Am  I  in  Uri,  in  the  land  of  freedom  ? 
MAS.  M.  Oh,  sir,  if  you  could  only  see  the  vaults 

Beneath  these  towers.     The  man  that  tenant* 

them 

Will  never  hear  the  cock  crow  more. 
STAUFF.  O  God ! 

MASON.    Look  at  these  ramparts  and  these  buttresses, 
That  seem  as  they  were  built  to  last  forever. 
TELL.       Hands  can  destroy  whatever  hands  have  reared. 

[Pointing  to  the  mountains. 
That  house  of  freedom  God  hath  built  for  us. 
[A  drum  is  heard.     People  enter  bearing  a  cap 
upon  a  pole,  followed  by  a  crier.      Women 
and  children  thronging  tumultuously  aftet 
them. 

IST  W.    What  means  the  drum  ?    Give  heed  ! 
MASON.  Why  here's  a  mumming ! 

And  look,  the  cap,  —  what  can  they  mean  by 

that  ? 

CRIER.     In  the  emperor's  name,  give  ear ! 
WORK.  Hush  !  silence  !  hush  ! 


WILHELM    TELL.  21 

CRIER.     Ye  men  of  Uri,  ye  do  see  this  cap ! 
It  will  be  set  upon  a  lofty  pole 
In  Altdorf,  in  the  market-place :   and  this 
Is  the  lord  governor's  good  will  and  pleasure, 
The  cap  shall  have  like  honor  as  himself, 
And  all  shall  reverence  it  with  bended  knee, 
And  head  uncovered  ;  thus  the  king  will  know 
Who  are  his  true  and  loyal  subjects  here : 
His  life  and  goods  are  forfeit  to  the  crown, 
That  shall  refuse  obedience  to  the  order. 

[  The  people  burst  out  into  laughter.     The 
drum  beats,  and  the  procession  passes  on. 

IST  W.  A  strange  device  to  fall  upon,  indeed  ! 
Do  reverence  to  a  cap  !  a  pretty  farce  ! 
Heard  ever  mortal  anything  like  this? 

MAS.  M.  Down  to  a  cap  on  bended  knee,  forsooth  ! 
Rare  jesting  this  with  men  of  sober  sense  ! 

IST  W.    Nay,  were  it  but  the  imperial  crown,  indeed ! 
But  'tis  the  cap  of  Austria  !     I've  seen  it 
Hanging  above  the  throne  in  Gessler's  hall. 

MASON.   The  cap  of  Austria !     Mark  that !     A  snare 
To  get  us  into  Austria's  power,  by  heaven  ! 

WORK.    Xo  freeborn  man  will  stoop  to  such  disgrace. 

MAS.  M.  Come  —  to  our  comrades,  and  advise  with  them  ! 

[  They  retire  up. 

TELL  (to  STAUFFACHER). 

You  see  how  matters  stand.  Farewell,  my  friend  ! 

STAUFF.  Whither  away?    Oh,  leave  us  not  so  soon. 

TELL.       They  look  for  me  at  home.     So  fare  ye  well. 

STAUFF.  My  heart's  so  full,  and  has  so  much  to  tell  you. 

TELL.       Words  will  not  make  a  heart  that's  heavy  light. 

STAUFF.  Yet  words  may  possibly  conduct  to  deeds. 

TELL.       All  we  can  do  is  to  endure  in  silence. 

STAUFF.  But  shall  we  bear  what  is  not  to  be  borne  ? 

TELL.       Impetuous  rulers  have  the  shortest  reigns. 

When  the  fierce  south  wind  rises  from  his  chasms, 
Men  cover  up  their  fires,  the  ships  in  haste 
Make  for  the  harbor,  and  the  mighty  spirit 
Sweeps  o'er  the  earth,  and  leaves  no  trace  behind. 
Let  every  man  live  quietly  at  home ; 
Peace  to  the  peaceful  rarely  is  denied. 


22  WILHELM    TELL. 

STAUFF.  And  is  it  thus  you  view  our  grievances  f 
TELL.       The  serpent  stings  not  till  it  is  provoked. 

Let  them  alone  ;  they'll  weary  of  themselves, 

Whene'er  they  see  we  arc  not  to  be  roused. 
STAUFF.  Much    might    be   done  —  did    we    stand    fasi 

together. 
TELL.       When  the  ship  founders,  he  will  best  escape 

Who  seeks  no  other's  safety  but  his  own. 
STAUFF.  And  you  desert  the  common  cause  so  coldly  ? 
TELL.       A  man  can  safely  count  but  on  himself ! 
STAUFF.  Nay,  even  the  weak  grow  strong  by  union. 
TELL.       But  the  strong  man  is  the  strongest  when  alone. 
STAUFF.  Your  country,  then,  cannot  rely  on  you 

If  in  despair  she  rise  against  her  foes. 
TELL.      Tell  rescues  the  lost  sheep  from  yawning  gulfs  : 

Is  he  a  man,  then,  to  desert  his  friends  ? 

Yet,  whatsoe'er  you  do,  spare  me  from  council ! 

I  was  not  born  to  ponder  and  select ; 

But  when  your  course  of  action  is  resolved, 

Then  call  on  Tell  ;  you  shall  not  find  him  fail. 

\_Exeunt  severally.     A  sudden  tumult  is 

heard  around  the  scaffolding. 
MASON  (running  in).     What's  wrong? 
FIRST  WORKMAN  (running  foncard ). 

The  slater's  fallen  from  the  roof. 
BERTHA  (rushing  in}. 

Is  he  dashed  to  pieces  ?     Run  —  save  him,  help ! 

If  help  be  possible,  save  him  !     Here  is  gold. 

[Throics  her  trinkets  among  the  people. 
MASON.    Hence  with  your  gold,  —  your  universal  charm, 

And  remedy  for  ill !     When  you  have  torn 

Fathers  from  children,  husbands  from  their  wives, 

And  scattered  woe  and  wail  throughout  the  land, 

You  think  with  gold  to  compensate  for  all. 

Hence!     Till  we  saw  you  we  were  happy  men  ; 

With  you  came  misery  and  dark  despair. 
BERTHA  (to  the  TASKMASTER,  who  has  returned}. 

Lives  he  ? 

[TASKMASTER  shakes  Ms  head. 
Ill-fated  towers,  with  curses  built, 

And  doomed  with  curses  to  be  tenanted  \  \Exit. 


WILHELM    TELL. 


23 


SCENE  IV. 

The  House  of  WALTER  FURST.  WALTER  FURST  and 
ARNOLD  VON  MELCHTHAL  enter  simultaneously  at 
different  sides. 

MELCH.    Good  Walter  Furst. 

FURST.  If  we  should  be  surprised  ! 

Stay  whei'e  you  are.     We  are  beset  with  spies. 

MELCH.    Have  you  no  news  for  me  from  Unterwald? 
What  of  my  father  ?     'Tis  not  to  be  borne, 
Thus  to  be  pent  up  like  a  felon  here ! 
What  have  I  done  of  such  a  heinous  stamp, 
To  skulk  and  hide  me  like  a  murderer? 
I  only  laid  my  staff  across  the  fingers 
Of  the  pert  varlet,  when  before  my  eyes, 
By  order  of  the  governor,  he  tried 
To  drive  away  my  handsome  team  of  oxen. 

FURST.  You  are  too  rash  by  far.  He  did  no  more 
Than  what  the  governor  had  ordered  him. 
You  had  transgressed,  and  therefore  should  have 

paid 
The  penalty,  however  hard,  in  silence. 

MELCH.    Was  I  to  brook  the  fellow's  saucy  words? 

"  That  if  the  peasant  must  have  bread  to  eat, 
"  Whv,  let  him  go  and  draw  the  plough  him- 
self !  " 

It  cut  me  to  the  very  soul  to  see 
My  oxen,  noble  creatures,  when  the  knave 
Unyoked  them  from  the  plough.      As  though 

they  felt 
The  wrong,  they  lowed  and  butted  with  their 

horns. 

On  this  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer, 
And,  overcome  by  passion,  struck  him  down. 

FURST.     Oh,  we  old  men  can  scarce  command  ourselves! 
And  can  we  wonder  youth  shall  break  its  bounds? 

MELCH.    I'm  only  sorry  for  my  father's  sake  ! 

To  be  away  from  him,  that  needs  so  much 
My  fostering  care !     The  governor  detests  him, 
Because  he  hath,  whene'er  occasion  served, 
Stood  stoutly  up  for  right  and  liberty. 


24 


WILHELM   TELL. 


Therefore  they'll  bear  him  hard  —  the  poor  old 

man  ! 
And   there  is  none   to   shield   him   from    their 

gripe. 

Come  what  come  may,  I  must  go  home  again. 
FURST.     Compose  yourself,  and  wait  in  patience  till 
We  get  some  tidings  o'er  from  U nterwald. 
Away  !  away !  I  hear  a  knock  !     Perhaps 
A  message  from  the  viceroy  !     Get  thee  in  ! 
You  are  not  safe  from  Landenberger's  *  arm 
In  Uri,  for  these  tyrants  pull  together. 
MELCH.    They  teach  us  Switzers  what  we  ought  to  do. 
FURST.     Away  !     I'll  call  you  when  the  coast  is  clear. 

[MELCHTHAL  retires. 

Unhappy  youth  !     I  dare  not  tell  him  all 
The  evil  that  my  boding  heart  predicts! 
Who's  there  ?     The  door  ne'er  opens  but  I  look 
For  tidings  of  mishap.     Suspicion  lurks 
With  darkling  treachery  in  every  nook. 
Even  to  our  inmost  rooms  they  force  their  way, 
These   myrmidons   of    power;   and   soon    we'll 

need 
To  fasten  bolts  and  bars  upon  our  doors. 

[lie  opens  the  door  and  steps  back  in  surprise 

as  WERNER  STAUFFACHER  enters. 
What  do  I  see?     You,  Werner?    Now,  by 

Heaven  ! 

A  valued  guest,  indeed.     No  man  e'er  set 
His  foot  across  this  threshold  more  esteemed. 
Welcome  !  thrice  welcome,  Werner,  to  my  roof  ! 
What  brings  you  here  ?     What  seek  you  here 

in  Uri  ? 
STAUFF.  (shakes  FURST  by  the  hand). 

The  olden  times  and  olden  Switzerland. 
FURST.     You  bring  them  with  yon.  See  how  I'm  rejoiced, 
My  heart  leaps  at  the  very  sight  of  you. 
Sit  down  —  sit  down,   and  tell  me  how  you  left 


*  Berenger  von  Landenberg,  a  man  of  noble  family  in  Thurgau,  and 
governor  of  Unterwald,  infamous  for  his  cruelties  to  the  Swiss,  and  par- 
ticularly to  the  venerable  Henry  of  the  Halden.  He  was  slain  at  the  battle 
of  Morgarteu  in  1315. 


WILHELM    TELL.  25 

Your  charming  wife,  fair  Gertrude?      Iberg's 

child, 

And  clever  as  her  father.     Not  a  man, 
That  wends  from  Germany,  by  Meinrad's  Cell,* 
To  Italy,  but  praises  far  and  wide 
Your  house's  hospitality.     But  say, 
Have  you  came  here  direct  from  Fliielen, 
And  have  you  noticed  nothing  on  your  way, 
Before  you  halted  at  my  door? 

STAUFF.  (sits  doicn).  I  saw 

A  work  in  progress,  as  I  came  along, 
I  little  thought  to  see  —  that  likes  me  ill. 

FURST.    O  friend  !  you've  lighted  on  my  thought  at  once. 

STAUFF.  Such  things  in  Uri  ne'er  were  known  before. 
Never  was  prison  here  in  man's  remembrance, 
Nor  ever  any  stronghold  but  the  grave. 

FURST.    You  name  it  well.     It  is  the  grave  of  freedom. 

STAUFF.  Friend,  Walter  Furst,  I  will  be  plain  with  you. 
No  idle  curiosity  it  is 

That  brings  me  here,  but  heavy  cares.     I  left 
Thraldom  at  home,  and  thraldom  meets  me  here. 
Our  wrongs,  e'en  now,  are  more  than   we  can 

bear. 

And  who  shall  tell  us  where  they  are  to  end  ? 
From  eldest  time  the  Switzer  has  been  free, 
Accustomed  only  to  the  mildest  rule. 
Such  things  as  now  we  suffer  ne'er  were  known 
Since  herdsmen  first  drove  cattle  to  the  hills. 

FURST.    Yes,  our  oppressions  are  unparalleled  ! 

Why,  even  our  own  good  lord  of  Attinghaus, 
Who  lived  in  olden  times,  himself  declares 
They  are  no  longer  to  be  tamely  borne. 

STAUFF.  In  Unterwalden  yonder  'tis  the  same  ; 
And  bloody  has  the  retribution  been. 
The  imperial  seneschal,  the  Wolf  shot,  who 
At  Rossberg  dwelt,  longed  for  forbidden  fruit- — 
Baumgarten's  wife,  that  lives  at  Alzellen, 
He  wished  to  overcome  in  shameful  sort, 
On  which  the  husband  slew  him  with  his  axe. 

*  A  cell  built  in  the  ninth  century  by  Meinrad,  Count  Hohenzollern,  the 
founder  of  the  Convent  of  Einsiettelii,  subsequently  alluded  to  in  the  text. 


26  WILHELM    TELL. 

FIJRST.  Oh,  Heaven  is  just  in  all  its  judgments  still  I 
Baumgarten,  say  you?  A  most  worthy  man. 
Has  he  escaped,  and  is  lie  safely  hid  ? 

STAUFF.  Your  son-in-law  conveyed  him  o'er  the  lake, 
And  he  lies  hidden  in  my  house  at  Steinen. 
He  brought  the  tidings  with  him  of  a  thing 
That  has  been  done,  at  Sarnen,  worse  than  all, 
A  thing  to  make  the  very  heart  run  blood ! 

FURST  (attentively). 

Say  on.     What  is  it  ? 

STAUFF.  There  dwells  in  Melchthal,  then, 

Just  as  you  enter  by  the  road  from  Kearns, 
An  upright  man,  named  Henry  of  the  Halden, 
A  man  of  weight  and  influence  in  the  Diet. 

FURST.     Who  knows    him   not?      But    what    of    him? 
Proceed. 

STAUFF.  The  Landenberg,  to  punish  some  offence, 
Committed  by  the  old  man's  son,  it  seems, 
Had  given  command  to  take  the  youth's  best 

pair 

Of  oxen  from  his  plough  :  on  which  the  lad 
Struck  down  the  messenger  and  took  to  flight. 

FURST.     But  the  old  father  — tell  me,  what  of  him? 

STAUFF.   The  Landenberg  sent  for  him,  and  required 
He  should  produce  his  son  upon  the  spot ; 
And    when    the  old    man   protested,  and   with 

truth, 

That  he  knew  nothing  of  the  fugitive, 
The  tyrant  called  his  torturers. 

FURST  (springs  up  and  tries  to  lead  him  to  the  other  side). 

Hush,  no  moi'e ! 

STAUFFACHER  (with  increasing  warmth). 

"  And  though  thy  son,"  he  cried,  "  Has  escaped 

me  now, 
I    have    thee    fast,    and    thou    shalt    feel    my 

vengeance." 

With  that  they  flung  the  old  man  to  the  earth, 
And  plunged  the  pointed  steel  into  his  eyes. 

FURST.     Merciful  heavens! 

MELCH.  (rushing  out). 

Into  his  eyes,  his  eyes  ? 


WILHELM    TELL.  27 

STAUFF.  (addresses  himself  in  astonishment  to  WALTER 

FURST). 

Who  is  this  youth  ? 
MELCH.  {grasping  him  convulsively). 

Into  his  eyes  ?     Speak,  speak  ! 
FURST.    Oh,  miserable  hour  ! 
STAUFF.  Who  is  it,  tell  me? 

[STAUFFACHER  makes  a  sign  to  him. 
It  is  his  son  !    All  righteous  heaven  ! 
MELCH.  And  I 

Must  be  from  thence  !  What !  into  both  his  eyes  ? 
FURST.    Be  calm,  be  calm  ;  and  bear  it  like  a  man  ! 
MELCH.    And  all  for  me  —  for  my  mad  wilful  folly! 

Blind,  did  you  say  ?     Quite  blind  —  and  both  his 

eyes? 
STAUFF.  Even  so.     The  fountain  of  his  sight's  dried  up. 

He  ne'er  will  see  the  blessed  sunshine  more. 
FURST.    Oh,  spare  his  anguish  ! 

MELCH.  Never,  never  more  ! 

[Presses  his  hands  upon  his  eyes  and  is  silent 

for  some  moments  /  then  turning  from  one 

to  the  other,  speaks  in  a  subdued  tone,  broken 

by  sobs. 

O  the  eye's  light,  of  all  the  gifts  of  heaven, 
The  dearest,  best!    From  light  all  beings  live  — 
Each  fair  created  thing — the  very  plants 
Turn  with  a  joyful  transport  to  the  light, 
And  he  —  he  must  drag  on  through  all  his  days 
In  endless  darkness !     Never  more  for  him 
The    sunny   meads   shall    glow,   the   flowerets 

bloom  ; 

Nor  shall  he  more  behold  the  roseate  tints 
Of  the  iced  mountain  top !     To  die  is  nothing, 
But  to  have  life,  and  not  have  sight  —  oh,  that 
Is  misery  indeed  !     Why  do  you  look 
So  piteously  at  me?    I  have  two  eyes, 
Yet  to  my  poor  blind  father  can  give  neither! 
No,  not  one  gleam  of  that  great  sea  of  light, 
That  with  its  dazzling  splendor  floods  my  gaze. 
STAUFF.  Ah,  I  must  swell  the  measure  of  your  grief, 
Instead  of  soothing  it.     The  worst,  alas  ! 


28 


WILHELM    TELL. 


Remains  to  tell.     They've  stripped  him  of  his 

all; 
Naught  have  they  left  him,  save  his  staff,  on 

which, 
Blind  and  in  rags,  he  moves  from  door  to  door. 

MELCH.    Naught  but  his  staff  to  the  old  eyeless  man  ! 
Stripped  of  his  all  —  even  of  the  light  of  day, 
The  common  blessing  of  the  meanest  wretch. 
Tell  me  no  more  of  patience,  of  concealment! 
Oh,  what  a  base  and  coward  thing  am  I, 
That  on  mine  own  security  I  thought 
And  took  no  care  of  thine  !     Thy  precious  head 
Left  as  a  pledge  within  the  tyrant's  grasp  ! 
Hence,  craven-hearted  prudence,  hence  !  And  all 
My   thoughts   be  vengeance,   and  the  despot's 
blood  !  [now  — 

I'll  seek  him  straight —  no  power  shall  stay  me 
And  at  his  hands  demand  my  father's  eyes. 
I'll  beard  him  'mid  a  thousand  myrmidons! 
What's  life  to  me,  if  in  his  heart's  best  blood 
I  cool  the  fever  of  this  mighty  anguish. 

[fie  is  going. 

FURST.    Stay,  this  is  madness,  Melchthal !     What  avails 
Your  single  arm  against  his  power  ?     He  sits 
At  Sarnen  high  within  his  lordly  keep, 
And,  safe  within  its  battlemented  walls, 
May  laugh  to  scorn  your  unavailing  rage. 

MELCH.    And  though  he  sat  within  the  icy  domes 

Of  yon  far  Schreckhorn  —  ay,  or  higher,  where 

Veiled  since  eternity,  the  Jungfrau  soars, 

Still  to  the  tyrant  would  I  make  my  way ; 

With  twenty  comrades  minded  like  myself, 

I'd  lay  his  fastness  level  with  the  earth  ! 

And  if  none  follow  me,  and  if  you  all, 

In  terror  for  your  homesteads  and  your  herds, 

Bow  in  submission  to  the  tyrant's  yoke, 

I'll  call  the  herdsmen  on  the  hills  around  me, 

And  there  beneath  heaven's  free  and  boundless 

roof, 

Where  men  still  feel  as  men,  and  hearts  are  true 
Proclaim  aloud  this  foul  enormity  1 


WILHELM   TELL.  29 

STAUFP.  (to  FUKST). 

'Tis  at  its  height  —  and  are  we  then  to  wait 
Till  some  extremity 

MELCHTHAL.  What  extremity 

Uciuains  for  apprehension,  where  men's  eyes 
Have  ceased  to  be  secure  within  their  sockets  ? 
Are  we  defenceless?     Wherefore  did  we  learn 
To  bend  the  crossbow  —  wield  the  battle-axe? 
What  living  creature,  but  in  its  despair, 
Finds  for  itself  a  weapon  of  defence? 
The  baited  stag  will  turn,  and  with  the  show 
Of  his  dread  antlers  hold  the  hounds  at  bay ; 
The   chamois   drags   the    huntsman   down   the 

abyss ; 

The  very  ox,  the  partner  of  man's  toil, 
The  sharer  of  his  roof,  that  meekly  bends 
The  strength  of  his  huge  neck  beneath  the  yoke, 
Springs  up,  if  he's  provoked,  whets  his  strong 

horn, 
And  tosses  his  tormenter  to  the  clouds. 

FURST.    If  the  three  Cantons  thought  as  we  three  do, 

Something  might,  then,  be  done,  with  good  effect. 

STAUFF.  When  Uri  calls,  when  Unterwald  replies, 

Schwytz  will  be  mindful  of  her  ancient  league.* 

*  The  League,  or  Bond,  of  the  Three  Cantons  was  of  very  ancient  origin. 
They  met  and  renewed  it  from  time  to  time,  especially  when  their  liberties 
were  threatened  with  danger.  A  remarkable  instance  of  this  occurred  in  the 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century,  when  Albert  of  Austria  became  emperor,  and 
when,  possibly,  for  the  first  time,  the  bond  was  reduced  to  writing.  As  it  is 
important  to  the  understanding  of  many  passages  of  the  play,  a  translation  is 
subjoined  of  the  oldest  known  document  relating  to  it.  The  original,  which 
is  in  Latin  and  German,  is  dated  in  August,  1291,  and  is  under  the  seals  of  the 
whole  of  the  men  of  Schwytz,  the  commonalty  of  the  vale  of  Uri,  and  the 
whole  of  the  men  of  the  upper  and  lower  vales  of  Stanz. 

THE   BOND. 

Be  it  known  to  every  one,  that  the  men  of  the  Dale  of  Uri,  the  Com- 
munity of  Schwytz,  as  also  the  men  of  the  mountains  of  Unterwald,  in 
consideration  of  the  evil  times,  have  full  confidently  bound  themselves,  and 
sworn  to  help  each  other  with  all  their  power  and  might,  property  and 
people,  against  all  who  shall  do  violence  to  them,  or  any  of  them.  That  is 
our  Ancient  Bond. 

Whoever  hath  a  Seignior,  let  him  obey  according  to  the  conditions  of  his 
service. 

We  are  agreed  to  receive  into  these  dales  no  Judge  who  is  not  a  country 
man  and  indweller,  or  who  hath  bought  his  place. 

Every  controversy  amongst  the  sworu  confederates  shall  be. determined 


30  WILHELM    TELL. 

MELCH.    I've  many  friends  in  Unterwald.  and  none 

That  would  not  gladly  venture  life  and  limb 

If  fairly  backed  and  aided  by  the  rest. 

Oh,  sage  and  reverend  fathers  of  this  land, 

Here  do  I  stand  before  your  riper  years, 

An  unskilled  youth  whose  voice  must  in  the  Diet 

Still  be  subdued  into  respectful  silence. 

Do  not,  because  that  I  am  young  and  want 

Experience,  slight  my  counsel  and  my  words. 

"Pis  not  the  wantonness  of  youthful  blood 

That  fires  my  spirit ;  but  a  pang  so  deep 

That  even  the  flinty  rocks  must  pity  me. 

You,  too,  are  fathers,  heads  of  families, 

And  you  must  wish  to  have  a  virtuous  son 

To  reverence  your  gray  hairs  and  shield  your  eyes 

With  pious  and  affectionate  regard. 

Do  not,  I  pray,  because  in  limb  and  fortune 

You  still  are  unassailed,  and  still  your  eyes 

Revolve    undimmed    and    sparkling    in    their 

spheres ; 

Oh,  do  not,  therefore,  disregard  our  wrongs! 
Above  you,  too,  doth  hang  the  tyrant's  sword. 
You,  too,  have  striven  to  alienate  the  land 
From  Austria.     This  was  all  my  father's  crime : 
You  share  his  guilt  and  may  his  punishment. 

STAUFFACHER  (to  FURST). 

Do  thou  resolve !     I  am  prepared  to  follow. 

FURST.     First  let  us  learn  what  steps  the  noble  lords 
Von  Sillinen  and  Attinghaus  propose. 
Their  names  would  rally  thousands  in  the  cause. 

MELCH.    Is  there  a  name  within  the  Forest  Mountains 

by  some  of  the  sagest  of  their  number,  and  if  any  one  shall  challenge  their 
judgment,  then  shall  he  be  constrained  to  obey  it  by  the  rest. 

Whoever  intentionally  or  deceitfully  kills  another  shall  be  executed,  and 
.vhoever  shelters  him  shall  be  banished. 

Whoever  burns  the  property  of  another  shall  no  longer  be  regarded  as  a 
countryman,  and  whoever  shelters  him  shall  make  good  the  damage  done. 

Whoever  injures  another,  or  robs  him,  and  hath  property  in  our  country, 
shall  make  satisfaction  out  of  the  same. 

No  one  shall  distrain  a  debtor  without  a  judge,  nor  any  one  who  is  not  his 
debtor,  or  the  surety  for  such  debtor. 

Every  one  in  these  dales  shall  submit  to  the  judge,  or  we,  the  sworn  con- 
federates, all  will  take  satisfaction  for  all  the  injury  occasioned  by  his  con- 
tumacy. And  if  in  any  internal  division  the  one  party  will  not  accept 
justice,  all  the  rest  shall  help  the  othfr  party.  These  decrees  shall,  God 
willing,  endure  eternally  for  our  general  advantage. 


WILHELM    TELL.  31 

That   carries   more   respect   than   thine  —  and 

thine  ? 

To  names  like  these  the  people  cling  for  help 
With  confidence  —  such  names  are  household 

words. 

Rich  was  your  heritage  of  manly  virtue, 
And  richly  have  you  added  to  its  stores. 
What  need  of  nobles?     Let  us  do  the  work 
Ourselves.     Although  we  stood  alone,  methinks 
We  should  be  able  to  maintain  our  rights. 

STAFFF.  The  nobles'  wrongs  are  not  so  great  as  ours. 
The  torrent  that  lays  waste  the  lower  grounds 
Hath  not  ascended  to  the  uplands  yet. 
But  let  them  see  the  country  once  in  arms 
They'll  not  refuse  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 

FUKST.     Were   there   an    umpire   'twixt   ourselves   and 

Austria, 

Justice  and  law  might  then  decide  our  quarrel. 
But  our  oppressor  is  our  emperor,  too, 
And  judge  supreme.     'Tis  God  must  help  us, 

then, 

And  our  own  arm !     Be  yours  the  task  to  rouse 
The  men  of  Schwytz ;  I'll  rally  friends  in  Uri. 
But  whom  are  we  to  send  to  Unterwald  ? 

MELCH.    Thither    send    me.      Whom    should    it    more 
concern  ? 

FURST.    No,  Melchthal,  no ;  thou  art  my  guest,  and  I 
Must  answer  for  thy  safety. 

MELCHTHAL.  Let  me  go. 

I  know  each  forest  track  and  mountain  pass ; 
Friends  too  I'll  find,  be  sure,  on  every  hand, 
To  give  me  willing  shelter  from  the  foe. 

STAUFF.  Nay,  let  him  go;  no  traitors  harbor  there: 
For  tyranny  is  so  abhorred  in  Unterwald 
No  minions  can  be  found  to  work  her  will. 
In  the  low  valleys,  too,  the  Alzeller 
Will  gain  confederates  and  rouse  the  country. 

MELCH.   But  how  shall  we  communicate,  and  not 
Awaken  the  suspicion  of  the  tyrants  ? 

STAUFF.  Might  we  not  meet  at  Brunnen  or  at  Treib, 

Hard  by  the  spot  where  merchant-vessels  land  ? 


32 


WILHELM    TELL. 


FURST.    We  must  not  go  so  openly  to  work. 

Hear  my  opinion.     On  the  lake's  left  bank, 
As  we  sail  hence  to  Brunnen,  right  against 
The  Mytenstein,  deep-hidden  in  the  wood 
A  meadow  lies,  by  shepherds  called  the  Rootli, 
Because  the  wood  has  been  uprooted  there. 
'Tis   where   our   Canton    boundaries    verge   on 
yours ;  —  \_To  MELCIITHAL. 

Your  boat  will  carry  you  across  from  Schwytz. 

\_To  STAUFFACHER. 

Thither  by  lonely  by-paths  let  us  wend 
At  midnight  and  deliberate  o'er  our  plans. 
Let  each  bring  with  him  there  ten  trusty  men, 
All  one  at  heart  with  us ;  and  then  we  may 
Consult  together  for  the  general  weal, 
And,   with   God's    guidance,    fix    our    onward 
course. 

STATJFF.  So  let  it  be.     And  now  your  true  right  hand  ! 
Yours,  too,  young  man !  and  as  we  now  three 

men 

Among  ourselves  thus  knit  our  hands  together 
In  all  sincerity  and  truth,  e'en  so 
Shall  we  three  Cantons,  too,  together  stand 
In  victory  and  defeat,  in  life  and  death. 

FURST  and  MELCHTHAL. 
In  life  and  death. 

[  They  hold  their  hands  clasped  together  fot 
some  moments  in  silence. 

MELCHTHAL.  Alas,  my  old  blind  father  ! 

Thou  canst  no  more  behold  the  day  of  freedom  ; 
But  thou  shalt  hear  it.     When  from  Alp  to  Alp 
The  beacon-fires  throw  up  their  flaming  signs, 
And  the  proud  castles  of  the  tyrants  fall, 
Into  thy  cottage  shall  the  Switzer  burst, 
Bear  the  glad  tidings  to  thine  ear,  and  o'er 
Thy   darkened    way   shall   Freedom's  radiance 
pour. 


WILHELM.  TELL.  33 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

The  Mansion  of  the  BARON  OF  ATTINGHAUSEN.  A  Gothic  hall, 
decorated  with  escutcheons  and  helmets.  The  BAKON,  a  gray- 
headed  man,  eighty-five  years  old,  tall,  and  of  a  commanding 
mien,  clad  in  a  furred  pelisse,  and  leaning  on  a  staff  tipped 
with  chamois  horn.  KUONI  and  six  hinds  standing  round  him, 
with  rakes  and  scythes.  ULRIOH  OF  RUDENZ  enters  in  the 
costume  of  a  knight. 

RUD.        Uncle,  I'm  here !     Your  will  ? 

ATTINGHAUSEN.  First  let  me  share, 

After  the  ancient  custom  of  our  house, 
The   morning-cup  with  these   my  faithful   ser- 
vants ! 
\_He  drinks  from  a  cup,  which  is  then  passed 

round. 

Time  was  I  stood  myself  in  field  and  wood, 
With  mine  own  eyes  directing  all  their  toil, 
Even  as  my  banner  led  them  in  the  fight, 
Now  I  am  only  fit  to  play  the  steward; 
And,  if  the  genial  sun  come  not  to  me, 
I  can  no  longer  seek  it  on  the  mountains. 
Thus  slowly,  in  an  ever-narrowing  sphere, 
I  move  on  to  the  narrowest  and  the  last, 
Where  all  life's  pulses  cease.     I  now  am  but 
The  shadow  of  my  former  self,  and  that 
Is  fading  fast  —  'twill  soon  be  but  a  name. 

KUONI  (offering  RUDENZ  the  cup). 
A  pledge,  young  master  ! 

[RUDENZ  hesitates  to  take  the  cup. 

Nay,  sir,  drink  it  off ! 

One  cup,  one  heart !    You  know  our  proverb,  sir ! 

ATTING.  Go,  children,  and  at  eve,  when  work  is  done, 

We'll  meet  and  talk  the  country's  business  over. 

[Exeunt  Servants. 

Belted  and  plumed,  and  all  thy  bravery  on  ! 
Thou  art  for  Altdorf  —  for  the  castle,  boy? 

RUD.        Yes,  uncle.     Longer  may  I  not  delay  — 

ATTINGHAUSEN  (sitting  down"). 

Why  in  such  haste  ?     Say,  are  thy  youthful  hours 


34  WILHELM    TELL. 

Doled  in  such  niggard  measure  that  thou  must 
Be  chary  of  them  to  thy  aged  uncle  ? 

RUD.        I  see,  my  presence  is  not  needed  here, 
I  am  but  as  a  stranger  in  this  house. 

ATTINGHAUSEN  (gazes  fixedly  at  him  for  a  considerable 

time). 

Alas,  thou  art  indeed !     Alas,  that  home 
To  thee  has  grown  so  strange !     Oh,  Uly !  Uly  ! 
I   scarce  do  know  thee  now,  thus   decked   in 

silks, 

The  peacock's  feather  *  flaunting  in  thy  cap, 
And  purple  mantle  round  thy  shoulders  flung; 
Thou  lookest  upon  the  peasant  with  disdain, 
And  takest  with  a  blush  his  honest  greeting. 

Run.        All  honor  due  to  him  I  gladly  pay, 

But  must  deny  the  right  he  would  usurp. 

ATTING.  The  sore  displeasure  of  the  king  is  resting 
Upon  the  land,  and  every  true  man's  heart 
Is  full  of  sadness  for  the  grievous  wrongs 
We  suffer  from  our  tyrants.     Thou  alone 
Art  all  unmoved  amid  the  general  grief. 
Abandoning  thy  friends,  thou  takest  thy  stand 
Beside  thy  country's  foes,  and,  as  in  scorn 
Of  our  distress,  pursuest  giddy  joys, 
Courting  the  smiles  of  princes,  all  the  while 
Thy  country  bleeds  beneath  their  cruel  scourge. 

RUD.        The  land  is  sore  oppressed  ;  I  know  it,  uncle. 
But  why?     Who  plunged  it  into  this  distress? 
A  word,  one  little  easy  word,  might  buy 
Instant  deliverance  from  such  dire  oppression, 
And  win  the  good-will  of  the  emperor. 
Woe  unto  those  who  seal  the  people's  eyes, 
And  make  them  adverse  to  their  country's  good ; 
The  men  who,  for  their  own  vile,  selfish  ends, 
Are  seeking  to  prevent  the  Forest  States 
From  swearing  fealty  to  Austria's  house, 
As  all  the  countries  round  about  have  done. 
It  fits  their  humor  well,  to  take  their  seats 

*  The  Austrian  knights  were  in  the  habit  of  wearing  a  plume  of  peacocks' 
feathers  in  their  helmets.  After  the  overthrow  of  the  Austrian  dominion  in 
Switzerland  it  was  made  highly  penal  to  wear  the  peacock's  feather  at  any 
public  assembly  there. 


WILHELM    TELL.  36 

Amid  the  nobles  on  the  Herrenbank ;  * 
They'll  have  the  Caesar  for  their  lord,  forsooth, 
That  is  to  say,  they'll  have  no  lord  at  all. 

ATTING.  Must  I  hear  this,  and  from  thy  lips,  rash  boy ! 

Run.        You  urged  me  to  this  answer.     Hear  me  out. 
What,  uncle,  is  the  character  you've  stooped 
To  fill  contentedly  through  life?     Have  you 
No  higher  pride,  than  in  these  lonely  wilds 
To  be  the  Landamman  or  Banneret,t 
The  petty  chieftain  of  a  shepherd  race? 
How  !     Were  it  not  a  far  more  glorious  choice 
To  bend  in  homage  to  our  royal  lord, 
And  swell  the  princely  splendors  of  his  court, 
Than  sit  at  home,  the  peer  of  your  own  vassals, 
And  share  the  judgment-seat  with  vulgar  clowns? 

ATTING.  Ah,  Uly,  Uly ;  alt  too  well  I  see, 

The  tempter's  voice  has  caught  thy  willing  ear, 
And  poured  its  subtle  poison  in  thy  heart. 

RITD.        Yes.  I  conceal  it  not.     It  doth  offend 

My  inmost  soul  to  hear  the  stranger's  gibes, 

That  taunt  us  with  the  name  of "  Peasant  Xobles." 

Think  you  the  heart  that's  stirring  here  can  brook, 

While  all  the  young  nobility  around 

Are  reaping  honor  under  Hapsburg's  banner, 

That  I  should  loiter,  in  inglorious  ease, 

Here  on  the  heritage  my  fathers  left. 

And,  in  the  dull  routine  of  vulgar  toil, 

Lose  all  life's  glorious  spring?     In  other  lands 

Deeds  are  achieved.     A  world  of  fair  renown 

Beyond  these  mountains  stirs  in  martial  pomp. 

My  helm  and  shield  are  rusting  in  the  hall ; 

The  martial  trumpet's  spirit-stirring  blast, 

The  herald's  call,  inviting  to  the  lists, 

Rouse  not  the  echoes  of  these  vales,  where  naught 

Save  cowherd's  horn  and  cattle-bell  is  heard, 

In  one  unvarying,  dull  monotony. 

ATTIXG.  Deluded  boy,  seduced  by  empty  show! 

Despise  the  land  that  gave  thee  birth  !    Ashamed 

*  The  bench  reserved  for  the  nobility. 

t  The  Landamman  was  an  officer  chosen  by  the  Swiss  Gemeinde,  or  Diet, 
to  preside  over  them.  The  Banneret  was  an  officer  intrusted  with  the  keep- 
ing of  the  state  banner,  and  such  others  as  were  taken  in  battle. 


36  WILHELM    TELL. 

Of  the  good  ancient  customs  of  thy  sires ! 
The  day  will  come,  when  thou,  with  burning 

tears, 

Wilt  long  for  home,  and  for  thy  native  hills, 
And  that  dear  melody  of  tuneful  herds, 
Which  now,  in  proud  disgust,  thou  dost  despise  ! 
A  day  when  thou  wilt  drink  its  tones  in  sadness, 
Hearing  their  music  in  a  foreign  land. 
Oh !  potent  is  the  spell  that  binds  to  home ! 
No,  no,  the  cold,  false  world  is  not  for  thee. 
At  the  proud  court,  with  thy  true  heart  thou  wilt 
Forever  feel  a  stranger  among  strangers. 
The  world  asks  virtues  of  far  other  stamp 
Than  thou  hast  learned  within  these  simple  vales. 
But  go  —  go  thither;  barter  thy  free  soul, 
Take  land  in  fief,  become  a  prince's  vassal, 
Where  thou  might'st  be  lord  paramount,  and 

prince 

Of  all  thine  own  unburdened  heritage  ! 
O,  Uly,  Uly,  stay  among  thy  people ! 
Go  not  to  Altdorf.     Oh,  abandon  not 
The  sacred  cause  of  thy  wronged  native  land  ! 
I  am  the  last  of  all  my  race.     My  name 
Ends  with   me.     Yonder   hang   my   helm   and 

shield ; 

They  will  be  buried  with  me  in  the  grave.* 
And  must  I  think,  when  yielding  up  my  breath, 
That  thou  but  wait'st  the  closing  of  mine  eyes, 
To  stoop  thy  knee  to  this  new  feudal  court, 
And  take  in  vassalage  from  Austria's  hands 
The  noble  lands,  which  I  from  God  received 
Free  and  unfettered  as  the  mountain  air! 
RUD.        'Tis  vain  for  us  to  strive  against  the  king. 

The  world  pertains  to  him  :  —  shall  we  alone, 
In  mad,  presumptuous  obstinacy  strive 
To  break  that  mighty  chain  of  lands,  which  he 
Hath  drawn  around  us  with  his  giant  grasp. 
His  are  the  markets,  his  the  courts ;  his  too 
The  highways ;  nay,  the  very  carrier's  horse, 

According  to  the  custom  by  which,  when  the  last  male -descendant  of  a 
noble  family  died,  his  sword,  helmet,  and  shield  were  buried  with  him. 


WILHELM    TELL.  £7 

That  traffics  on  the  Gotthardt,  pays  him  toll. 

By  his  dominions,  as  within  a  net, 

We  are  enclosed,  and  girded  round  about. 

—  And  will  the  empire  shield  us?     Say,  can  it 

Protect  itself  'gainst  Austria's  growing  power  ? 

To  God,  and  not  to  emperors,  must  we  look! 

What  store  can  on  their  promises  be  placed, 

When  they,  to  meet  their  own  necessities, 

Can  pawn,  and  even  alienate  the  towns 

That  flee  for  shelter  'neath  the  eagle's  wings?* 

No.  uncle.     It  is  wise  and  wholesome  prudence, 

In  times  like  these,  when  faction's  all  abroad, 

To  own  attachment' to  some  mighty  chief. 

The   imperial  crown's  transferred  from  line  to 

line,f 

It  has  no  memory  for  faithful  service : 
But  to  secure  the  favor  of  these  great 
Hereditary  masters,  were  to  sow 
Seed  for  a  future  harvest. 

ATTINGHAUSEN.  Art  so  wise  ? 

Wilt  thou  see  clearer  than  thy  noble  sires, 
Who  battled  for  fair  freedom's  costly  gem, 
With  life,  and  fortune,  and  heroic  arm  ? 
Sail  down  the  lake  to  Lucerne,  there  inquire, 
How  Austria's  rule  doth  weigh  the  Cantons  down. 
Soon  she  will  come  to  count  our  sheep,  our  cattle, 
To  portion  out  the  Alps,  e'en  to  their  summits, 
And  in  our  own  free  woods  to  hinder  us 
From  striking  down  the  eagle  or  the  stag; 
To  set  her  tolls  on  every  bridge  and  gate, 
Impoverish  us  to  swell  her  lust  of  sway, 
And  drain  our  dearest  blood  to  feed  her  wars. 
No,  if  our  blood  must  flow,  let  it  be  shed 
In  our  own  cause !     We  purchase  liberty 
More  cheaply  far  than  bondage. 

RUDENZ.  What  can  we, 

A  shepherd  race,  against  great  Albert's  hosts? 

*  Tills  frequently  occurred.  But  in  the  event  of  an  imperial  city  being 
mortgaged  for  the  purpose  of  raising  money  it  lost  its  freedom,  and  was  con- 
sidered as  put  out  of  the  realm. 

t  An  allusion  to  the  circumstance  of  the  imperial  crown  not  being  heredi- 
tary, but  conferred  by  election  on  one  of  the  counts  of  the  empire. 


38 

ATTING.  Learn,  foolish  boy,  to  know  this  shepherd  race ! 
I  know  them,  I  have  led  them  on  in  fight  — 
I  saw  them  in  the  battle  at  Favenz. 
Austria  will  try,  forsooth,  to  force  on  us 
A  yoke  we  are  determined  not  to  bear ! 
Oh,  learn  to  feel  from  what  a  race  thou'rt  sprung ! 
Cast  not,  for  tinsel  trash  and  idle  show, 
The  precious  jewel  of  thy  worth  away. 
To  be  the  chieftain  of  a  freeborn  race, 
Bound  to  thee  only  by  their  unbought  love, 
Ready  to  stand  —  to  fight  — to  die  with  thee, 
Be  that  thy  pride,  be  that  thy  noblest  boast ! 
Knit  to  thy  heart  the  ties  of  kindred  — home  — 
Cling  to  the  land,  the  dear  land  of  thy  sires, 
Grapple  to  that  with  thy  whole  heart  and  soul ! 
Thy  power  is  rooted  deep  and  strongly  here, 
But  in  yon  stranger  world  thou'lt  stand  alone, 
A  trembling  reed  beat  down  by  every  blast.^ 
Oh  come  !  'tis  long  since  we  have  seen  thee,  TJly  ! 
Tarry  but  this  one  day.     Only  to-day 
Go  not  to  Altdorf.     Wilt  thou  ?    Not  to-day ! 
For  this  one  day  bestow  thee  on  thy  friends. 

[  Takes  his  hand. 

RUD.        I  gave  my  word.     Unhand  me!     I  am  bound. 

ATTING.  (drops  his  hand  and  says  sternly}. 

Bound,  didst  thou  say?     Oh  yes,  unhappy  boy, 
Thou  art,  indeed.     But  not  by  word  or  oath. 
Tis  by  the  silken  mesh  of  love  thou'rt  bound. 

[RUDENZ  turns  atoay, 

Ay,  hide  thee,  as  thou  wilt.     'Tis  she,  I  know, 
Bertha  of  Bruneck,  draws  thee  to  the  court ; 
Tis  she  that  chains  thee  to  the  emperor's  service. 
Thou  think'st  to  win  the  noble,  knightly  maid, 
By  thy  apostacy.     Be  not  deceived. 
She  is  held  out  before  thee  as  a  lure ; 
But  never  meant  for  innocence  like  thine. 

RUD.        No  more;  I've  heard  enough.     So  fare  you  well. 

[Exit. 

ATTIXG.  Stay,  Uly  !    Stay  !    Rash  boy,  he's  gone  !    I  can 
Nor  hold   him   back,  nor   save   him   from   de- 
struction. 


W1LHELM    TELL.  39 

And  so  the  Wolfshot  has  deserted  us ;  — 
Others  will  follow  his  example  soon. 
This  foreign  witchery,  sweeping  o'er,  our  hills, 
*Tear8  with  its  potent  spell  our  youth  away : 
O  luckless  hour,  when  men  and 'manners  strange 
Into  these  calm  and  happy  valleys  came, 
To  warp  our  primitive  and  guileless  ways. 
The  new  is  pressing  on  with  might.     The  old, 
The  good,  the  simple,  fleeteth  fast  away. 
New  times  come  on.     A  race  is  springing  up, 
That  think  not  as  their  fathers  thought  before ! 
What  do  I  here  ?     All,  all  are  in  the  grave 
With  whom  erewhile  I  moved  and  held  converse  ; 
My  age  has  long  been  laid  beneath  the  sod : 
Happy  the  man  who  may  not  live  to  see 
What  shall  be  done  by  those  that  follow  me ! 


SCENE  II. 

A  meadow  surrounded  by  high  rocks  and  wooded  ground.  On  the 
rocks  are  tracks,  with  rails  and  ladders,  by  which  the  peasants 
are  afterwards  seen  descending.  In  the  background  the  lake  is 
observed,  and  over  it  a  moon  rainbow  in  the  early  part  of  the 
scene.  The  prospect  is  closed  by  lofty  mountains,  with  glaciers 
rising  behind  them.  The  stage  is  dark,  but  the  lake  and  glaciers 
glisten  in  the  moonlight.  ' 

MELCHTHAL,  BAUMGARTEX,  WIXKELRIED,  MEYER  vox 
SARXEX,  BURKHART  AM  BUHEL,  ARNOLD  vox  SEWA, 
KLAUS  VON  DER  FLUE,  and  four  other  peasants,  att 
armed. 

MELCHTHAL  (behind  the  scenes). 

The  mountain  pass  is  open.     Follow  me 
I  see  the  rock,  and  little  cross  upon  it : 
This  is  the  spot ;  here  is  the  Rootli. 

[  They  enter  with  torches. 

WIXKELRIED.  Hark ! 

SEWA.     The  coast  is  clear. 

MEYER.  None  of  our  comrades  come  ? 

We  are  the  first,  we  Unterwaldeners. 

MELCH.   How  far  is't  in  the  night? 


40 


WILHELM    TELL. 


BAUM.  The  beacon  watch 

Upon  the  Selisberg  has  just  called  two. 

\_A  bell  is  heard  at  q  distance. 
MEYER.    Hush  !    Hark ! 
BUHEL.  The  forest  chapel's  matin  bell 

Chimes  clearly  o'er  the  lake  from  Switzerland. 
VON  F.  The  air  is  clear,  and  bears  the  sound  so  far. 
MELCH.    Go,  you  and  you,  and  light  some  broken  boughs, 
Let's  bid  them  welcome  with  a  cheerful  blaze. 

[  Two  peasants  exeunt. 
SEWA.     The   moon   shines  fair   to-night.      Beneath    its 

beams 

The  lake  reposes,  bright  as  burnished  steel. 
BUHEL.    They'll  have  an  easy  passage. 
WINK,  (pointing  to  the  lake).  Ha  !  look  there  ! 

See  you  nothing  ? 
MEYER.  What  is  it  ?    Ay,  indeed  ! 

A  rainbow  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 
MELCH.    Formed  by  the  bright  reflection  of  the  moon  ! 
VON  F.  A  sign  most  sti'ange  and  wonderful,  indeed  ! 
Many  there  be  who  ne'er  have  seen  the  like. 
SEWA.     'Tis  doubled,  see,  a  paler  one  above! 
BAUM.     A  boat  is  gliding  yonder  right  beneath  it. 
MELCH.    That  must  be  Werner  Stauffacher!     I  knew 
The  worthy  patriot  would  not  tarry  long. 

[  Goes  with  BAUMGARTEN  towards  the  shore. 
MEYER.   The  Uri  men  are  like  to  bo  the  last. 
BUHEL.    They're  forced  to  take  a  winding  circuit  through 
The  mountains ;  for  the  viceroy's  spies  are  out. 
\_In  the  meanwhile   the    two   peasants    have 

kindled  a  fire  in  the  centre  of  the  stage. 
MELCH.  ^(on  the  shore). 

Who's  there  ?     The  word  ? 

STAUFF.  (from  below).  Friends  of  the  country. 

[All  retire  up  the  stage,  towards  the.  party 
landing  from  the  boat.  Enter  STAUFF- 
ACHER, ITEL,  REDING,  HANS  AUF  DEE 
MAUER,  JORG  IM  HOFE,  CONRAD  HUNN, 
ULRICH  DER  SCHMIDT,  JOST  VON  WEILER, 
and  three  other  peasants,  armed. 


WILHELM    TELL.  41 

ALL.  Welcome ! 

[  While  the  rest  remain  behind  exchanging 
greetings,  MKLCHTHAL  comes  forward  with 
STAUFFACHER. 

MELCH.    Oh,  worthy  Stauffacher,  I've  looked  but  now 
On  him,  who  could  not  look  on  me  again. 
I've  laid  my  hands  upon  his  rayless  eyes, 
And  on  their  vacant  orbits  sworn  a  vow 
Of  vengeance,  only  to  be  cooled  in  blood. 

STAUFF.  Speak  not  of  vengeance.     We  are  here  to  meet 
The  threatened  evil,  not  to  avenge  the  past. 
Now  tell  me  what  you've  done,  and  what  secured, 
To  aid  the  common  cause  in  Unterwald. 
How  stands  the  peasantry  disposed,  and  how 
Yourself  escaped  the  wiles  of  treachery? 

MELCH.    Through  the  Surenen's  fearful  mountain  chain, 
Where  dreary  ice-fields  stretch  on  every  side, 
And  sound  is  none,  save  the  hoarse  vulture's  cry, 
I  reached  the  Alpine  pasture,  where  the  herds 
From  Uri  and  from  Engelberg  resort, 
And  turn  their  cattle  forth  to  graze  in  common. 
Still  as  I  went  along,  I  slaked  my  thirst 
With  the  coarse  oozings  of  the  lofty  glacier, 
That  through  the  crevices  come  foaming  down, 
And  turned  to  rest  me  in  the  herdsman's  cots,* 
Where  I  was  host  and  guest,  until  I  gained 
The  cheerful  homes  and  social  haunts  of  men. 
Already  through  these  distant  vales  had  spread 
The  rumor  of  this  last  atrocity  ; 
And  wheresoe'er  I  went,  at  every  door, 
Kind   words  and    gentle  looks   were   there   to 

greet  me. 

I  found  these  simple  spirits  all  in  arms 
Against  our  rulers'  tyrannous  encroachments. 
For  as  their  Alps  through  each  succeeding  year 
Yield   the    same    roots, — their    streams    flow 

ever  on 
In  the  same  channels, — nay,  the  clouds  and  winds 

*  These  are  the  cots,  or  shealings,  erected  by  the  herdsmen  for  shelter 
while  pasturing  their  herds  on  the  mountains  during  the  summer.  These 
are  left  deserted  in  winter,  during  which  period  Melchthal's  journey  was 
taken. 


42  WILHELM   TELL 

The  selfsame  course  unalterably  pursue, 
So  have  old  customs  there,  from  sire  to  son, 
Been  handed  down,  unchanging  and  unchanged  ; 
Nor  will  they  brook  to  swerve  or  turn  aside 
From  the  fixed,  even  tenor  of  their  life. 
With  grasp  of  their  hard  hands  they  welcomed 

me  — 

Took  from  the  walls  their  rusty  falchionsdown  — 
And  from  their  eyes  the  soul  of  valor  flashed 
With  joyful  lustre,  as  I  spoke  those  names, 
Sacred  to  every  peasant  in  the  mountains, 
Your  own  and  Walter  Fiirst's.     Whate'er  your 

voice 

Should  dictate  as  the  right  they  swore  to  do  ; 
And  you  they  swore  to  follow  e'en  to  death. 
So  sped  I  on  from  house  to  house,  secure 
In  the  guest's  sacred  privilege  —  and  when 
I  reached  at  last  the  valley  of  my  home, 
Where  dwell  my  kinsmen,   scattered    far  and 

near  — 

And  when  I  found  my  father  stripped  and  blind, 
Upon  the  stranger's  straw,  fed  by  the  alms 

Of  charity 

STAUFFACHER.  Great  heaven  ! 

MELCIITHAL.  Yet  wept  I  not . 

No  —  not  in  weak  and  unavailing  tears 
Spent  I  the  force  of  my  fierce, burning  anguish. 
Deep  in  my  bosom,  like  some  precious  treasure, 
I  locked  it  fast,  and  thought  on  deeds  alone. 
Through  every  winding  of  the  hills  I  crept  — 
No  valley  so  remote  but  I  explored  it ; 
Nay,  even  at  the  glacier's  ice-clad  base, 
I  sought  and  found  the  homes  of  living  men  ; 
And    still,    where'er    my   wandering    footsteps 

turned, 

The  self-same  hatred  of  these  tyrants  met  me. 
For  even  there,  at  vegetation's  verge, 
Where  the  numbed  earth  is  barren  of  all  fruits, 
There  grasping  hands  had  been  stretched  forth 

for  plunder. 
Into  the  hearts  of  all  this  honest  race, 


WILHELM    TELL.  43 

The  story  of  my  wrongs  struck  deep,  and  now 
They  to  a  man  are  ours  ;  both  heart  and  hand. 

STAUFF.  Great  things,  indeed,  you've  wrought  in   little 
time. 

MELCH.   I  did  still  more  than  this.     The  fortresses, 

Rossberg  and  Sarnen,  are  the  country's  dread  ; 
For  from  behind  their  rocky  walls  the  foe 
Swoops,  as  the  eagle  from  his  eyrie,  down, 
And,  safe  himself,  spreads  havoc  o'er  the  land. 
With    my   own    eyes   I    wished     to   weigh    its 

strength, 
So  went  to  Sarnen,  and  explored  the  castle. 

STAUFF.  How  !  Risk  thyself  even  in  the  tiger's  den  ? 

MELCH.   Disguised  in  pilgrim's  weeds  I  entered  it; 
I  saw  the  viceroy  feasting  at  his  board  — 
Judge  if  I'm  master  of  myself  or  no! 
I  saw  the  tyrant,  and  I  slew  him  not ! 

STAUFF.  Fortune,  indeed,  has  smiled  upon  your  boldness. 
\_Meamchile  the  others  have  arrived  and  join 

MELCHTHAL  and  STAUFFACHER. 
Yet  tell  me  now,  I  pray,  who  are  the  friends, 
The  worthy  men,  who  came  along  with  you? 
Make  me  acquainted  with  them,  that  we  may 
Speak  frankly,  man  to  man,  and  heart  to  heart. 

MEYER.  In  the  three  Cantons,  who,  sir,  knows  not  you  ? 
Meyer  of  Sarnen  is  my  name  ;  and  this 
Is  Struth  of  Winkelried,  my  sister's  son. 

STAUFF.  No  unknown  name.     A  Winkelried  it  was 
Who  slew  the  dragoon  in  the  fen  at  Weiler, 
And  lost  his  life  in  the  encounter,  too. 

WINK.     That,  Master  Stauffacher,   was  my  grandfather. 

MELCH.  (pointing  to  tiro  peasants}. 

These  two  are  men  belonging  to  the  convent 
Of  Engelberg,  and  live  behind  the  forest. 
You'll  not   think    ill  of  them,    because  they're 

serfs, 

And  sit  not  free  upon  the  soil,  like  us. 
They  love  the  land,  and  bear  a  good  repute. 

STAUFFACHER  (to  them}. 

Give  me  your  hands.     He  has  good   cause  for 
thanks, 


44 


WILHELM    TELL. 


That  unto  no  man  owes  his  body's  service. 
But  worth  is  worth,  no  matter  where  'tis  found, 

HUNN.     That  is  Herr  Reding,  sir,  our  old  Landamman. 

MEYER.   I  know  him  well.     There  is  a  suit  between  us, 
About  a  piece  of  ancient  heritage. 
Herr  Reding,  we  are  enemies  in  court, 
Here  we  are  one.  [Shakes  his  hand. 

STAUWACHER.  That's  well  and  bravely  said. 

WINK.     Listen  !    They  come.    Hark  to  the  horn  of  Uri ! 
\_0n  the  right  and  left  armed  men  are  seen 
descending  the  rocks  with  torches. 

MAUER.  Look,  is  not  that  God's  pious  servant  there? 
A  worthy  priest !     The  terrors  of  the  night, 
And  the  way's  pains  and  perils  scare  not  him, 
A  faithful  shepherd  caring  for  his  flock. 

BAUM.      The  Sacrist  follows  him,  and  Walter  Fiirst. 
But  where  is  Tell  ?     I  do  not  see  him  there. 
[WALTER   FURST,  ROSSELMAXST   the  Pastor, 
PETERMAXN  the  /Sacrist,  KUONI  the  Shep- 
herd, WERNI   the  Huntsman,  Ruom   the 
Fisherman,   and  five   other   countrymen, 
thirty-three  in  all,  advance  and  take  their 
places  round  the  fire. 

FURST.    Thus  must  we,  on  the  soil  our  fathers  left  us, 
Creep  forth  by  stealth  to  meet  like  murderers, 
And  in  the  night,  that  should  their  mantle  lend 
Only  to  crime  and  black  conspiracy, 
Assert  our  own  good  rights,  which  yet  are  clear 
As  is  the  radiance  of  the  noonday  sun. 

MELCH.    So  be  it.     What  is  woven  in  gloom  of  night 
Shall  free  and  boldly  meet  the  morning  light. 

ROSSEL.  Confederates !  listen  to  the  words  which  God 
Inspires  my  heart  withal.     Here  we  are  met 
To  represent  the  general  weal.     In  us 
Are  all  the  people  of  the  land  convened. 
Then  let  us  hold  the  Diet,  as  of  old, 
And  as  we're  wont  in  peaceful  times  to  do. 
The  time's  necessity  be  our  excuse 
If  there  be  aught  informal  in  this  meeting. 
Still,  wheresoe'er  men  strike  for  justice,  there 
Is  God,  and  now  beneath  his  heaven  we  stand. 


WILHELM    TELL.  45 

STAUFF.  'Tis  well  advised.     Let  us,  then,  hold  the  Diet 

According  to  our  ancient  usages. 

Though  it  be  night  there's  sunshine  in  our  cause. 
MELCH.   Few  though  our  numbers  be,  the  hearts  are  here 

Of  the  whole  people ;  here  the  best  are  met. 
HUNN.      The  ancient  books  may  not  be  near  at  hand, 

Yet  are  they  graven  in  our  inmost  hearts. 
ROSSEL.   'Tis  well.     And  now,  then,  let  a  ring  be  formed, 

And   plant   the   swords   of   power    within    the 

ground.* 
MAUER.   Let  the  Landamman  step  into  his  place, 

And  by  his  side  his  secretaries  stand. 
SACRIST.  There  are  three  Cantons  here.     Which  hath  the 
right 

To  give  the  head  to  the  united  council  ? 

Schwytz  may  contest  the  dignity  with  Uri, 

We  Unterwaldeners  enter  not  the  field. 
MELCH.    We  stand  aside.     We  are  not  suppliants  here, 

Invoking  aid  from  our  more  potent  friends. 
STAUFF.  Let  Uri  have  the  sword.     Her  banner  takes 

In  battle  the  precedence  of  our  own. 
FURST.     Schwytz,  then,  must   share   the   honor   of   the 
sword ; 

For  she's  the  honored  ancestor  of  all. 
ROSSEL.  Let  me  arrange  this  generous  controversy. 

Uri  shall  lead  in  battle  —  Schwytz  in  council. 
FURST  (gives  STAUFFACHER  his  hand). 

Then  take  your  place. 

STAUFFACHER.  Not  I.     Some  older  man. 

HOFE.      Ulrich,  the  smith,  is  the  most  aged  here. 
MAUER.    A  worthy  man,  but  he  is  not  a  freeman ; 

No  bondman  can  be  judge  in  Switzerland. 
STAUFF.  Is  not  Herr  Reding  here,  our  old  Landamman  ? 

Where  can  we  find  a  worthier  man  than  he? 
FURST.    Let  him  be  Amman  and  the  Diet's  chief? 

You  that  agree  with  me  hold  up  your  hands ! 

\_All  hold  up  their  right  hands. 
REDING  (stepping  into  the  centre). 

I  cannot  lay  my  hands  upon  the  books  ; 

*  It  was  the  custom  at  the  meetings  of  the  Landes  Oemeinde,  or  Diet,  to 
set  swords  upright  in  the  grouud  as  emblems  of  authority. 


46  WILHELM    TELL. 

But  by  yon  everlasting  stars  I  swear 
Never  to  swerve  from  justice  and  the  right. 


REDING  (resting  on  his  battle-sword). 

Why,  at  the  hour  when  spirits  walk  the  earth, 
Meet  the  three  Cantons  of  the  mountains  here, 
Upon  the  lake's  inhospitable  shore  ? 
And  what  the  purport  of  the  new  alliance 
We  here  contract  beneath  the  starry  heaven  ? 
STAUFFACHER  (entering  the  circle). 

No  new  alliance  do  we  now  contract, 
But  one  our  fathers  framed,  in  ancient  times, 
We  purpose  to  renew  !    For  know,  confederates, 
Though  mountain    ridge   and  lake  divide  our 

bounds, 

And  every  Canton's  ruled  by  its  own  laws, 
Yet  are  we  but  one  race,  born  of  one  blood, 
And  all  are  children  of  one  common  home. 
WINK.     Then  is  the  burden  of  our  legends  true, 

That  we  came  hither  from  a  distant  land  ? 
Oh,  tell  us  what  you  know,  that  our  new  league 
May  reap  fresh  vigor  from  the  leagues  of  old. 
STAUFF.  Hear,  then,  what   aged  herdsmen  tell.     Ihere 

dwelt 

A  mighty  people  in  the  land  that  lies 
Back  to  the  north.     The  scourge  of  famine  came ; 
And  in  this  strait  'twas  publicly  resolved, 
That  each  tenth  man,  on  whom  the  lot  might  fall 
Should  leave  the  country.     They  obeyed  —  and 

forth, 

With  loud  lamentings,  men  and  women  went, 
A  mighty  host ;  and  to  the  south  moved  on, 
Cutting  their   way    through    Germany   by  the 

sword, 

Until  they  gained  that  pine-clad  hills  of  ours; 
Nor  stopped  they  ever  on  their  forward  course, 
Till  at  the  shaggy  dell  they  halted,  where 
The  Mtita  flows  through  its  luxuriant  meads. 
No  trace  of  human  creature  met  their  eye, 


WILHELM    TELL.  47 

Save  one  poor  hut  upon  the  desert  shore, 
Where  dwelt  a  lonely  man,  and  kept  the  ferry. 
A  tempest  raged  —  the  lake  rose  mountains  high 
And  barred  their  further  progress.     Thereupon 
They  viewed  the  country  ;  found  it  rich  in  wood, 
Discovered  goodly  springs,  and  felt  as  they 
Were  in  their  own  deai   native  land  once  more. 
Then  they  resolved  to  settle  on  the  spot ; 
Erected  there  the  ancient  town  of  Schwytz ; 
And  many  a  day  of  toil  had  they  to  clear 
The  tangled  brake  and  forest's  spreading  roots. 
Meanwhile  their  numbers  grew,  the  soil  became 
Unequal  to  sustain  them,  and  they  crossed 
To  the  black  mountain,  far  as  Weissland,  where, 
Concealed  behind  eternal  walls  of  ice, 
Another  people  speak  another  tongue. 
They  built  the  village  Stanz,  beside  the  Kern- 

wald: 

The  village  Altdorf,  in  the  vale  of  Reuss ; 
Yet,  ever  mindful  of  their  parent  stem, 
The  men  of  Schwytz,  from  all  the  stranger  race, 
That  since  that  time  have  settled  in  the  land, 
Each  other  recognize.     Their  hearts  still  know, 
And  beat  fraternally  to  kindred  blood. 

[Extends  his  hand  right  and  left. 

M.VUER.   Ay,  we  are  all  one  heart,  one  blood,  one  race ! 

ALL  (joining  hands). 

We  are  one  people,  and  will  act  as  one. 

STAUFF.  The  nations  round  us  bear  a  foreign  yoke  ; 
For  they  have  yielded  to  the  conqueror. 
Nay,  even  within  our  frontiers  may  be  found 
Some  that  owe  villein  service  to  a  lord, 
A  race  of  bonded  serfs  from  sire  to  son. 
But  we,  the  genuine  race  of  ancient  Swiss, 
Have  kept  our  freedom  from  the  first  till  now, 
Never  to  princes  have  we  bowed  the  knee ; 
Freely  we  sought  protection  of  the  empire. 

ROSSEL.  Freely  we  sought  it  —  freely  it  was  given. 

'Tis  so  set  down  in  Emperor  Frederick's  charter 

STAUFF.  For  the  most  free  have  still  some  feudal  lord. 
There  must  be  still  a  chief,  a  judge  supreme, 


48  WILHELM   TELL. 

To  whom  appeal  may  lie  in  case  of  strife. 
And  therefore  was  it  that  our  sires  allowed 
For  what  they  had  recovered  from  the  waste, 
This  honor  to  the  emperor,  the  lord 
Of  all  the  German  and  Italian  soil ; 
And,  like  the  other  freemen  of  his  realm, 
Engaged  to  aid  him  with  their  swords  in  war  ; 
And  this  alone  should  be  the  freeman's  duty, 
To  guard  the  empire  that  keeps  guard  for  him. 

MELCH.    He's  but  a  slave  that  would  acknowledge  more. 

STAUFF.  They  followed,  when  the  Heribann  *  went  forth, 
The   imperial   standard,  and    they    fought    its 

battles ! 

To  Italy  they  marched  in  arms,  to  place 
The  Caesars'  crown  upon  the  emperor's  head. 
But  still  at  home  they  ruled  themselves  in  peace, 
By  their  own  laws  and  ancient  usages. 
The  emperor's  only  right  was  to  adjudge 
The  penalty  of  death  ;  he  therefore  named 
Some  mighty  noble  as  his  delegate, 
That  had  no  stake  or  interest  in  the  land. 
He  was  called  in,  when  doom  was  to  be  passed, 
And,  in  the  face  of  day,  pronounced  decree, 
Clear  and  distinctly,  fearing  no  man's  hate. 
What   traces    here,   that    we    are    bondsmen? 

Speak, 
If  there  be  any  can  gainsay  my  words  ! 

HOFE.      No  !  You  have  spoken  but  the  simple  truth  ; 
We  never  stooped  beneath  a  tyrant's  yoke. 

STAUFF.  Even  to  the  emperor  we  refused  obedience, 

When  he  gave  judgment  in  the  church's  favor  ; 
For  when  the  Abbey  of  Einsiedlen  claimed 
The  Alp  our  fathers  and  ourselves  had  grazed, 
And  showed  an  ancient  charter,  which  bestowed 
The  land  on  them  as  being  ownerless  — 
For  our  existence  there  had  been  concealed  — 
What  was  our  answer  ?     This  :  "  The  grant  is 

void, 
No  emperor  can  bestow  what  is  our  own  : 

*  The  Heribann  was  a  muster  of  warriors  similar  to  the  arriere  ban 
in  France. 


WLLHELM   TELL.  49 

And  if  the  empire  shall  deny  us  justice, 

We  can,  within  our  mountains,  right  ourselves !  " 

Thus  spake  our  fathers  !     And  shall  we  endure 

The  shame  and  infamy  of  this  new  yoke, 

And  from  the  vassal  brook  what  never  king 

Dared  in  the  fulness  of  his  power  attempt  ? 

This  soil  we  have  created  for  ourselves, 

By  the  hard  labor  of  our  hands ;  we've  changed 

The  giant  forest,  that  was  erst  the  haunt 

Of  savage  bears,  into  a  home  for  man ; 

Extirpated  the  dragon's  brood,  that  wont 

To  rise,  distent  with  venom,  from  the  swamps; 

Rent  the  thick  misty  canopy  that  hung 

Its  blighting  vapors  on  the  dreary  waste  ; 

Blasted  the  solid  rock ;  o'er  the  abyss 

Thrown  the  firm  bridge  for  the  wayfaring  man  : 

By  the  possession  of  a  thousand  years 

The  soil  is  ours.     And  shall  an  alien  lord, 

Himself  a  vassal,  dare  to  venture  here, 

On  our  own  hearths  insult  us,  —  and  attempt 

To  forge  the  chains  of  bondage  for  our  hands, 

And  do  us  shame  on  our  own  proper  soil  ? 

Is  there  no  help  against  such  wrong  as  this  ? 

\_Great  sensation  among  the  people. 
Yes  !  there's  a  limit  to  the  despot's  power ! 
When  the  oppressed    looks  round  in  vain  for 

justice, 

When  his  sore  burden  may  no  more  be  borne, 
With  fearless  heart  he  makes  appeal  to  Heaven, 
And  thence  brings  down  his  everlasting  rights, 
Which  there  abide,  inalienably  his, 
And  indestructible  as  are  the  stars. 
Nature's  primeval  state  returns  again,. 
Where  man  stands  hostile  to  his  fellow-man ; 
And  if  all  other  means  shall  fail  his  need, 
One  last  resource  remains  —  his  own  good  sword. 
Our  dearest  treasures  call  to  us  for  aid 
Against  the  oppressor's  violence ;  we  stand 
For  country,  home,  for  wives,  for  children  here ! 
ALL  (clashing  their  swords}. 

Here  stand  we  for  our  homes,  our  wives,  and 

children. 


50  WILHELM   TELL. 

ROSSELMANN  (stepping  into  the  circle). 

Bethink  ye  well  before  ye  draw  the  sword. 
Some  peaceful  compromise  may  yet  be  made ; 
Speak  but  one  word,  and   at  your  feet  you'll 

see 

The  men  who  now  oppress  you.    Take  the  terms 
That  have  been  often  tendered  you  ;  renounce 
The  empire,  and  to  Austria  swear  allegiance ! 

MAUEB.   What  says  the  priest  ?    To  Austria  allegiance  ? 

BUHEL.    Hearken  not  to  him  ! 

WINKELRIED.  'Tis  a  traitor's  counsel, 

His  country's  foe ! 

REDING.  Peace,  peace,  confederates ! 

SEBVA.    Homage  to  Austria,  after  wrongs  like  these ! 

FLUE.      Shall  Austria  exort  from  us  by  force 

What  we  denied  to  kindness  and  entreaty? 

MEYER.  Then  should  we  all  be  slaves,  deservedly. 

MAUEB.   Yes  !     Let  him  forfeit  all  a  Switzer's  rights 

Who  talks  of  yielding  to  the  yoke  of  Austria! 
I  stand  on  this,  Landamman.     Let  this  be 
The  foremost  of  our  laws  ! 

MELCHTHAL.  Even  so !     Whoever 

Shall  talk  of  tamely  bearing  Austria's  yoke, 
Let  him  be  stripped  of  all  his  rights  and  honors  j 
And  no  man  hence  receive  him  at  his  hearth ! 

ALL  (raising  their  right  hands). 

Agreed  !     Be  this  the  law ! 

REDING  (after  a  pause}.  The  law  it  is. 

ROSSEL.  Now  you  are  free  —  by  this  law  you  are  free. 
Never  shall  Austria  obtain  by  force 
What  she  has  failed  to  gain  by  friendly  suit. 

WEIL.      On  with  the  order  of  the  day  !     Proceed  ! 

REDING.  Confederates !     Have   all  gentler   means    been 

tried  ? 

Perchance  the  emperor  knows  not  of  our  wrongs, 
It  may  not  be  his  will  that  thus  we  suffer : 
Were  it  not  well  to  make  one  last  attempt, 
And  lay  our  grievances  before  the  throne, 
Ere  we  unsheath  the  sword  ?    Force  is  at  best 
A  fearful  thing  even  in  a  righteous  cause  ; 
God  only  helps  when  man  can  help  no  more. 


WILHELM    TELL.  52 

STAUFF.  (to  COXRAD  Huxx). 

Here  you  can  give  us  information.     Speak  ! 

Huxx.     I  was  at  Rheinfeld,  at  the  emperor's  palace, 
Deputed  by  the  Cantons  to  complain 
Of  the  oppression  of  these  governors, 
And  claim  the  charter  of  our  ancient  freedom. 
Which  each  new  king  till  now  has  ratified. 
I  found  the  envoys  there  of  many  a  town, 
From  Suabia  and  the  valley  of  the  Rhine, 
Who  all  received  their  parchments  as  they  wished 
And  straight  went  home  again  with  merry  heart. 
They  sent  for  me,  your  envoy,  to  the  council, 
Where  I  was  soon  dismissed  with  empty  comfort; 
"  The  emperor  at  present  was  engaged  ; 
Some  other  time  he  would  attend  to  us  !  " 
I  turned  away,  and  passing  through  the  hall, 
With  heavy  heart  in  a  recess  I  saw 
The  Grand  Duke  John  *  in  tears,  and  by  his  side 
The  noble  lords  of  Wart  and  Tegerfeld, 
Who  beckoned  me,  and  said,  "  Redress  your- 
selves. 

Expect  not  justice  from  the  emperor. 
Does  he  not  plunder  his  own  brother's  child, 
And  keep  from  him  his  just  inheritance? 
The  duke  claims  his  maternal  property, 
Urging  he's  now  of  age,  and  'tis  full  time 
That  he  should  rule  his  people  and  dominions ; 
What  is  the  answer  made  to  him  ?    The  king 
Places  a  chaplet  on  his  head  :  "  Behold, 
The  fitting  ornament,"  he  cries,  "  of  youth !  " 

MAUER.  You  hear.     Expect  not  from  the  emperor 

Or  right,  or  justice.     Then  redress  yourselves! 

REDIXG.  No  other  course  is  left  us.     Now,  advise 
What  plan  most  likely  to  insure  success. 

FURST.     To  shake  a  thraldom  off  that  we  abhor, 
To  keep  our  ancient  rights  inviolate, 
As  we  received  them  from  our  forefathers  —  this, 
Not  lawless  innovation,  is  our  aim. 
Let  Caesar  still  retain  what  is  his  due  ; 

*  The  Duke  of  Suabia,  who  soon  afterwards  assassinated  his  uncle,  for 
withholding  his  patrimony  from  him. 


52  WILHELM    TELL. 

And  he  that  is  a  vassal  let  him  pay 

The  service  he  is  sworn  to  faithfully. 
MEYER.  I  hold  my  land  of  Austria  in  fief. 
FURST.    Continue,  then,  to  pay  your  feudal  service. 
WEIL.      I'm  tenant  of  the  lords  of  Rappersweil. 
FURST.     Continue,  then,  to  pay  them  rent  and  tithe. 
ROSSEL.  Of  Zurich's  lady,  I'm  the  humble  vassal. 
FURST.    Give  to  the  cloister  what  the  cloister  claims. 
STAUFF.  The  empire  only  is  my  feudal  lord. 
FURST.    What  needs  must  be,  we'll  do,  but  nothing  fur- 
ther. 

We'll   drive   these   tyrants   and   their  minions 
hence, 

And   raze   their   towering    strongholds  to   the 
ground, 

Yet  shed,  if  possible,  no  drop  of  blood. 

Let  the  emperor  see  that  we  were  driven  to  cast 

The  sacred  duties  of  respect  away ; 

And  when  he  finds  we  keep  within  our  bounds, 

His  wrath,  belike,  may  yield  to  policy; 

For  truly  is  that  nation  to  be  feared, 

That,  wLen  in  arms,  is  temperate  in  its  wrath. 
REDING.  But,  prithee,  tell  us  how  may  this  be  done? 

The  enemy  is  armed  as  well  as  we, 

And,  rest  assured,  he  will  not  yield  in  peace. 
STAUFF.  He  will,  whene'er  lie  sees  us  up  in  arms ; 

We  shall  surprise  him,  ere  he  is  prepared. 
MEYER.  'Tis  easily  said,  but  not  so  easily  done. 

Two  fortresses  of  strength  command  the  country. 

They  shield  the   foe,  and  should  the  king  in- 
vade us, 

The  task  would  then  be  dangerous  indeed. 

Rossberg  and  Sarnen  both  must  be  secured, 

Before  a  sword  is  drawn  in  either  Canton. 
STAUFF.  Should  we  delay,  the  foe  will  soon  be  warned ; 

We  are  too  numerous  for  secrecy. 
MEYER.  There  is  no  traitor  in  the  Forest  States. 
ROSSEL.  But  even  zeal  may  heedlessly  betray. 
FURST.    Delay  it  longer,  and  the  keep  at  Altdorf 

Will  be  complete,  —  the  governor  secure. 
MEYER.  You  think  but  of  yourselves. 


WILHELM    TELL.  00 

SACRIST  AX.  You  are  unjust ! 

MEYER.   Unjust !  said  you?    Dares  Uri  taunt  us  so? 

REDING.  Peace,  on  your  oath  ! 

MEYER.  If  Schwytz  be  leagued  with  Uri, 

Why  then,  indeed,  we  must  perforce  be  silent. 

REDIXG.  And  let  me  tell  you,  in  the  Diet's  name, 

Your  hasty  spirit  much  disturbs  the  peace. 
Stand  we  not  all  for  the  same  common  cause? 

WIXK.     What,  if  we  delay  till  Christmas  ?     'Tis  then 
The  custom  for  the  serfs  to  throng  the  castle, 
Bringing  the  governor  their  annual  gifts. 
Thus  may  some  ten  or  twelve  selected  men 
Assemble  unobserved  within  its  walls, 
Bearing  about  their  persons  pikes  of  steel, 
Which  may  be  quickly  mounted  upon  staves, 
For  arms  are  not  ad  mil  ted  to  the  fort. 
The  rest  can  fill  the  neighboring  wood,  prepared 
To  sally  forth  upon  a  trumpet's  blast, 
Whene'er  their  comrades  have  secured  the  gate; 
And  thus  the  castle  will  be  ours  with  ease. 

MKLCH.    The  Rossberg  I  will  undertake  to  scale, 
1  have  a  sweetheart  in  the  garrison, 
Whom  with  some  tender  words  I  could  persuade 
To  lower  me  at  night  a  hempen  ladder. 
Once  up,  my  friends  will  not  be  long  behind. 

REDING.  Are  all  resolved  in  favor  of  delay  ? 

[  The  majority  raise  their  hands. 

STAUFF.  (counting  them). 

Twenty  to  twelve  is  the  majority. 

FURST.     If  on  the  appointed  day  the  castles  fall, 

From  mountain  on  to  mountain  we  shall  pass 
The  fiery  signal :  in  the  capital 
Of  every  Canton  quickly  rouse  the  Landsturm.* 
Then,  when  these  tyrants  see  our  martial  front, 
Believe  me,  they  will  never  make  so  bold 
As  risk  the  conflict,  but  will  gladly  take 
Safe  conduct  forth  beyond  our  boundaries. 

STAUFF.  Not  so  with  Gessler.     He  will  make  a  stand. 
Surrounded  with  his  dread  array  of  horse, 
Blood  will  be  shed  before  he  quits  the  field. 

*  A  sort  of  national  militia. 


54  WILHELM    TELL. 

And  even  expelled  he'd  still  be  terrible. 

Tis  hard,  indeed  'tis  dangerous,  to  spare  him. 

BAUM.      Place  me  where'er  a  life  is  to  be  lost ; 
I  owe  my  life  to  Tell,  and  cheerfully 
Will  pledge  it  for  my  country.     I  have  cleared 
My  honor,  and  my  heart  is  now  at  rest. 

REDING.  Counsel    will    come    with    circumstance.       Be 

patient. 

Something  must  still  be  trusted  to  the  moment. 
Yet,  while  by  night  we  hold  our  Diet  here, 
The  morning,  see,  has  on  the  mountain-tops 
Kindled  her  glowing  beacon.     Let  us  part, 
Ere  the  broad  sun  surprise  us. 

FUEST.  Do  not  fear. 

The  night  wanes  slowly  from  these  vales  of  ours. 
[All  have  it.  voluntarily  taken  off  their  caps, 
and  contemplate  the  breaking  of  day,  ab- 
sorbed in  silence. 

ROSSEL.  By  this  fair  light,  which  greeteth  us,  before 
Those  other  nations,  that,  benenth  us  far, 
In  noisome  cities  pent,  draw  painful  breath, 
Swear  we  the  oath  of  our  confederacy! 
We  swear  to  be  a  nation  of  true  brothers, 
Never  to  part  in  danger  or  in  death  ! 
[They  repeat  his  words  with  three  fingers  raised. 
We  swear  we  will  be  free,  as  were  our  sires, 
And  sooner  die  than  live  in  slavery  ! 

[All  repeat  as  before. 

We  swear  to  put  our  trust  in  God  Most  High, 
And  not  to  quail  before  the  might  of  man  ! 
[All  repeat  as  before,  and  embrace  each  other. 

STAUFP.  Now  every  man  pursue  his  several  way 

Back  to  his  friends  his  kindred,  and  his  home. 
Let  the  herd  winter  up  his  flock  and  gain 
In  silence,  friends,  for  our  confederacy! 
What  for  a  time  must  be  endured,  endure. 
And  let  the  reckoning  of  the  tyrants  grow, 
Till  the  great  day  arrive,  when  they  shall  pay 
The  general  and  particular  debt  at  once. 
Let  every  man  control  his  own  just  rage, 
And  nurse  his  vengeance  for  the  public  wrongs ; 


WILHELM   TELL.  55 

For  he  whom  selfish  interest  now  engage 
Defrauds  the  general  weal  of  what  to  it  belongs. 
[As  they  are  going  off  in  profound  silence,  in 
three    different    directions,    the    orchestra 
plays  a  solemn  air.     The  empty  scene  re- 
mains open  for  some   time,  showing  the 
rays  of  the  sun  rising  over  the  glaciers. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. 

Court  before  TELL'S  house.  TELL  with  an  axe.  HEDWIG  engaged 
in  her  domestic  duties.  WALTER  and  WILHELM  in  the  back- 
ground playing  with  a  little  cross-bow. 

WALTER  (sings). 

With  his  cross-bow  and  his  quiver 

The  huntsman  speeds  his  way, 
Over  mountain,  dale,  and  river 

At  the  dawning  of  the  day. 

As  the  eagle,  on  wild  pinion, 

Is  the  king  in  realms  of  air ; 
So  the  hunter  claims  dominion 

Over  crag  and  forest  lair. 

Far  as  ever  bow  can  carry 

Through  the  trackless,  airy  space, 

All  he  sees  he  makes  his  quarry, 
Soaring  bird  and  beast  of  chase. 

WILHELM  (runs  forward}. 

My  string  has  snapped  !     Wilt  mend  it  for  raes 
father  ? 

PELL.       Not  I ;  a  true-born  archer  helps  himself. 

[Boys  retire. 

HEDW.     The  boys  begin  to  use  the  bow  betimes. 

TELL.       'Tis  early  practice  only  makes  the  master. 

HEDW.     Ah !   Would  to  heaven  they  never  learnt  the  art ! 

TELL.       But  they  shall  learn  it,  wife,  in  all  its  points. 
Whoe'er  would  carve  an  independent  way 
Through  life  must  learn  to  ward  or  plant  a  blow. 


56 


WILHELM    TELL. 


TELL 


HEDW. 


HEDW.     Alas,  alas  !  and  they  will  never  rest 
Contentedly  at  home. 

No  more  can  I ! 

I  was  not  framed  by  nature  for  a  shepherd. 
Restless  I  must  pursue  a  changing  course ; 
I  only  feel  the  flush  and  joy. of  life 
In  starting  some  fresh  quarry  every  day. 
Heedless  the  while  of  all  your  wife's  alarms 
As  she   sits  watching  through  long   hours   at 

home. 

For  my  soul  sinks  with  terror  at  the  tales 
The  servants  tell  about  your  wild  adventures. 
Whene'er  we  part  my  trembling  heart  forebodes 
That  you  will  ne'er  come  back  to  me  again. 
I  see  you  on  the  frozen  mountain  steeps, 
Missing,  perchance,  your  leap  from  cliff  to  cliff ; 
I  see  the  chamois,  with  a  wild  rebound. 
Drag  you  down  with  him  o'er  the  precipice. 
I  see  the  avalanche  close  o'er  your  head, 
The  treacherous  ice  give  way,  and  you  sink  down 
Entombed  alive  within  its  hideous  gulf. 
Ah !  in  a  hundred  varying  forms  does  death 
Pursue  the  Alpine  huntsman  on  his  course. 
That  way  of  life  can  surely  ne'er  be  blessed, 
Where  life  and  limb  are  perilled  every  hour. 

TELL.      The  man  that  bears  a  quick  and  steady  eye, 
And  trusts  to  God  and  his  own  lusty  sinews, 
Passes,  with  scarce  a  scar,  through  every  danger. 
The  mountain  cannot  awe  the  mountain  child. 
[Having  finished  his  work,  he  lays  aside  his 

tools. 

And  now,  methinks,  the  door  will  hold  awhile. 
The  axe  at  home  oft  saves  the  carpenter. 

[  Takes  his  cap 

HEDW.    Whither  away ! 

TELL.  To  Altdorf,  to  your  father. 

HEDW.     You  have  some  dangerous  enterprise  in  view? 
Confess ! 

TELL.  Why  think  you  so  ? 

HEDWIG.  Some  scheme's  on  foot, 

Against  the  governors.     There  was  a  Diet 


WILHELM    TELL. 


57 


Held  on  the  Rootli  —  that  I  know  —  and  you 

Are  one  of  the  confederacy  I'm  sure. 
TELL.       I  was  not  there.     Yet  will  I  not  hold  back 

Whene'er  my  country  calls  me  to  her  aid. 
HEDW.     Wherever  danger  is,  will  you  be  placed. 

On  you,  as  ever,  will  the  burden  fall. 
TEH        Each    man    shall   have   the   post   that   fits   his 

powers. 
HEDW.     You  took  —  ay,  'mid  the  thickest  of  the  storm  — 

The  man  of  Unterwald  across  the  lake. 

Tis  a  marvel  you  escaped.   Had  you  no  thought 

Of  wife  and  children  then  ? 
TELL.  Dear  wife,  I  had ; 

And  therefore  saved  the  father  for  his  children. 
HEDW.     To  brave  the  lake  in  all  its  wrath  ;     'Twos  not 

To  put  your  trust  in  God  !   'Twas  tempting  him. 
TELL.       The  man  that's  over-cautious  will  do  little. 
HEDW.     Yes,  you've  a  kind  and  helping  hand  for  all ; 

But  be  in  straits  and  who  will  lend  you  aid? 
TELL.       God  grant  I  ne'er  may  stand  in  need  of  it ! 

[  Takes  up  his  crossbow  and  arrows. 
HEDW.     Why  take  your  crossbow  with  you  ?     Leave  it 

here. 
TELL.       I  want  my  right  hand  when  I  want  my  bow. 

[  The  boys  return. 

WALT.     Where,  father,  are  you  going? 
TELL.  To'grand-dad,  boy  — 

To  Altdorf.     Will  you  go  ? 

WALTER.  Ay,  that  I  will ! 

HEDW.    The  viceroy's  there  just  now.      Go  not  to  Alt- 
dorf. 

TELL.       He  leaves  to-day. 
HEDWIG.  Then  let  him  first  be  gone, 

Cross   not   his  path.     You   know   he   bears  us 

grudge. 
TELL.       His  ill-will  cannot  greatly  injure  me. 

I  do  what's  right,  and  care  for  no  man's  hate. 
HEDW.     'Tis  those  who  do  what's  right  whom  he  most 

hates. 
TELL.      Because  he  cannot  reach  them.     Me,  I  ween, 

His  knightship  will  be  glad  to  leave  in  peace. 


58 


WILHELM    TELL. 


HEDW.     Ay .     Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

TELL.  Not  long  ago, 

As  I  was  hunting  through  the  wild  ravines 
Of  Shechenthal,  untrod  by  mortal  foot,  — 
There,  as  I  took  my  solitary  way 
Along  a  shelving  ledge  of  rocks,  where  'twas 
Impossible  to  step  on  either  side; 
For  high  above  rose,  like  a  giant  wall, 
The  precipice's  side,  and  far  below 
The  Shechen  thundered  o'er  its  rifted  bed ;  — 
[  The  boys  press  towards  him,  looking  upon 

him  with  excited  curiosity. 
There,  face  to  face,  I  met  the  viceroy.     He 
Alone  with  me — and  I  myself  alone  — 
Mere  man  to  man,  and  near  us  the  abyss. 
And  when  his  lordship  had  perused  my  face, 
And  knew  the  man  he  had  severely  fined 
On  some  most  trivial  ground  not  long  before ; 
And  saw  me,  with  my  sturdy  bow  in  hand, 
Come  striding  towards  him,  then  his  cheek  grew 

pale, 

His  knees  refused  their  office,  and  I  thought 
He  would  have  sunk  against  the  mountain  side. 
Then,  touched  with  pity  for  him,  I  advanced, 
Respectfully,  and  said,  "  'Tis  I,  my  lord. '' 
But  ne'er  a  sound  could  he  compel  his  lips 
To  frame  an  answer.     Only  with  his  hand 
He  beckoned  me  in  silence  to  proceed. 
So  I  passed  on,  and  sent  his  train  to  seek  him. 

HEDV.     He  trembled  then  before  you  ?     Woe  the  while 
You  saw  his  weakness  ;  that  he'll  not  forgive. 

TELL.       I  shun  him,  therefore,  and  he'll  not  seek  me. 

HEDW.     But  stay  away  to  day.     Go  hunting  rather  ! 

TELL.      What  do  you  fear  ? 

HEDWIG.  I  am  uneasy.     Stay. 

TELL.       Why  thus  distress  yourself  without  a  cause? 

HEDW.     Because  there  is  no  cause.  Tell,  Tell  !  stay  here ! 

TELL.       Dear  wife,  I  gave  my  promise  I  would  go. 

HEDW.    Must  you,  —  then  go.    But  leave  the  boys  with 
me. 

WALT.     No,  mother  dear,  I'm  going  with  my  father. 


WILHELM    TELL.  59 

HEDW,.     How,  Walter!      Will  you  leave  your  mother 

then? 
WALT.     I'll  bring  you  pretty  things  from  grandpapa. 

[Exit  with  his  father. 
WILH.      Mother,  I'll  stay  with  you  ! 
HEDWIG  (embracing  him).  Yes,  yes  !  thou  art 

My  own  dear  child.  Thou'rtall  that's  left  tome. 
[She  goes  to  the  gate  of  the  court,  and  looks 
anxiously  after  TELL  and  her  son  for  a  con- 
siderable time. 

SCEXE  II. 

A  retired  part  of  the   Forest.     Brooks   dashing  in  spray  over 

the  rocks. 

•Enter  BERTHA  in  a  hunting  dress.     Immediately  after- 
wards  RUDENZ. 

BERTHA.  He  follows  me.     Now  to  explain  myself ! 

RUDENZ  (entering  hastily}. 

At  length,  dear  lady,  we  have  met  alone 
In  this  wild  dell,  with  rocks  on  every  side, 
No  jealous  eye  can  watch  our  interview. 
Now  let  my  heart  throw  off  this  weary  silence. 

BERTHA.  But  are  you  sure  they  will  not  follow  us? 

RUD.        See,   yonder  goes   the   chase.     Now,   then,   or 

never ! 

I  must  avail  me  of  the  precious  moment,  — 
Must  hear  my  doom  decided  by  thy  lips, 
Though  it  should  part  me  from  thy  side  forever. 
Oh,  do  not  arm  that  gentle  face  of  thine 
With  looks  so  stern  and  harsh !     Who  —  who 

am  I, 

That  dare  aspire  so  high  as  unto  thee? 
Fame  hath  not  stamped  me  yet ;  nor  may  I  take 
My  place  amid  the  courtly  throng  of  knights, 
That,    crowned    with   glory's    lustre,   woo  thy 

smiles. 

Nothing  have  I  to  offer  but  a  heart 
That  overflows  with  truth  and  love  for  thee. 

BERTHA  (sternly  and  with  severity). 

And  dare  you  speak  to  me  of  love  —  of  truth  ? 


60  WIM1ELM    TELL. 

You,  that  are  faithless  to  your  nearest  ties ! 
You,   that   are  Austria's  slave  —  bartered  and 

sold 
To  her  —  an  alien,  and  your  country's  tyrant! 

RUD.        How  !    This  reproach  from  thee !     Whom  do  I 

seek 
On  Austria's  side,  my  own  beloved,  but  thee  ? 

BERTHA.  Think  you  to  find  me  in  the  traitor's  ranks  ? 
Now,  as  I  live,  I'd  rather  give  my  hand 
To  Gessler's  self,  all  despot  though  he  be, 
Than  to  the  Switzer  who  forgets  his  birth, 
And  stoops  to  be  the  minion  of  a  tyrant. 

RUD.        Oh  heaven,  what  must  I  hear ! 

BERTHA.  Say  !  what  can  lie 

Nearer  the  good  man's  heart  than  friends  and 

kindred  ? 

What  dearer  duty  to  a  noble  soul 
Than  to  protect  weak,  suffering  innocence, 
And  vindicate  the  rights  of  the  oppressed? 
My  very  soul  bleeds  for  your  countrymen ; 
I  suffer  with  them,  for  I  needs  must  love  them  ; 
They  are  so  gentle,  yet  so  full  of  power ; 
They  draw  my  whole  heart  to  them.    Every  day 
I  look  upon  them  with  increased  esteem. 
But  you,  whom  nature  and  your  knightly  vow, 
Have  given  them  as  their  natural  protector, 
Yet  who  desert  them  and  abet  their  foes, 
In  forging  shackles  for  your  native  land, 
You  — you  it  is,  that  deeply  grieve  and  wound  me. 
I  must  constrain  my  heart,  or  I  shall  hate  you. 

RUD.  Is  not  my. country's  welfare  all  my  wish? 
What  seek  I  for  her  but  to  purchase  peace 
'Neath  Austria's  potent  sceptre  ? 

BERTHA.  Bondage,  rather  I 

You  would  drive  freedom  from  the  last  strong- 
hold 

That  yet  remains  for  her  upon  the  earth. 
The  people  know  their  own  true  interests  better  : 
Their  simple  natures  are  not  warped  by  show, 
But  round  your  head  a  tangling  net  is  wound. 

RUD.        Bertha,  you  hate  me  —  you  despise  me  ! 


WILIIELM    TELL.  61 

BERTHA.  Nayt 

And  if  I  did,  'twere  better  for  my  peace. 
But  to  see  him  despised  and  despicable,  — 
The  man  whom  one  might  love. 

RUDENZ.  Oh,  Bertha!    You 

Show  me  the  pinnacle  of  heavenly  bliss, 
Then,  in  a  moment,  hurl  me  to  despair ! 

BERTH.    No,  no!  the  noble  is  not  all  extinct 

Within  you.     It  but  slumbers,  —  I  will  rouse  it. 
It  must  have  cost  you  many  a  fiery  struggle 
To  crush  the  virtues  of  your  race  within  you. 
But,    heaven    be    praised,    'tis    mightier    than 

yourself, 
And  you  are  noble  in  your  own  despite ! 

Run.        You  trust  me,  then?     Oh,  Bertha,  with  thy  love 
What  might  I  not  become  ? 

BERTHA.  Be  only  that 

For  which  your  own  high  nature  destined  you. 
Fill  the  position  you  were  born  to  fill ;  — 
Stand  by  your  people  and  your  native  land  • 
And  battle  for  your  sacred  rights  ! 

RUDENZ.  Alas ! 

How  can  I  hope  to  win  you  —  to  possess  you, 
If  I  take  arms  against  the  emperor  ? 
Will  not  your  potent  kinsman  interpose, 
To  dictate  the  disposal  of  your  hand  ? 

BERTH.   All  my  estates  lie  in  the  Forest  Cantons  ; 
And  I  am  free,  when  Switzerland  is  free. 

RUD.        Oh !  what  a  prospect,  Bertha,  hast  thou  shown 
me ! 

BERTH.    Hope  not  to  win  my  hand  by  Austria's  favor ; 
Fain  would  they  lay  their  grasp  on  my  estates, 
To  swell  the  vast  domains  which  now  they  hold. 
The  selfsame  lust  of  conquest  that  would  rob 
You  of  your  liberty  endangers  mine. 
Oh,  friend,  I'm  marked  for  sacrifice  ;  —  to  be 
The  guerdon  of  some  parasite,  perchance  ! 
They  11  drag  me  hence  to  the  imperial  court 
That  hateful  haunt  of  falsehood  and  intrigue ; 
There  do  detested  marriage  bonds  await  me. 
Love,  love  alone,  —  your  love  can  rescue  me. 


<52 


WILHELM   TELL. 


RUD.        And  thou  could'st  be  content,  love,  to  live  here, 
In  my  own  native  land  to  be  my  own  ? 
Oh,  Bertha,  all  the  yearnings  of  my  soul 
For  this  great  world  and  its  tumultuous  strife, 
What  were  they,  but  a  yearning  after  thee  ? 
In  glory's  path  I  sought  for  thee  alone, 
And  all  my  thirst  of  fame  was  only  love. 
But  if  in  this  calm  vale  thou  canst  abide 
With  me,  and  bid  earth's  pomps  and  pride  adieu, 
Then  is  the  goal  of  my  ambition  won  ; 
And  the  rough  tide  of  the  tempestuous  world 
May  dash  and  rave  around  these  firm-set  hills ! 
No  wandering  wishes  more  have  I  to  send 
Forth  to  the  busy  scene  that  stirs  beyond. 
Then  may  these  rocks  that  girdle  us  extend 
Their  giants  walls  impenetrably  round, 
And  this  sequestered  happy  vale  alone 
Look  up  to  heaven,  and  be  my  paradise  ! 

BERTH.    Now  art  thou  all  my  fancy  dreamed  of  thee. 
My  trust  has  not  been  given  to  thee  in  vain. 

RUD.        Away,  ye  idle  phantoms  of  my  folly  ! 

In  mine  own  home  I'll  find  my  happiness. 
Here  where  the  gladsome  boy  to  manhood  grew, 
Where  every   brook,    and    tree,  and    mountain 

peak, 

Teems  with  remembrances  of  happy  hours, 
In  mine  own  native  land  thou  wilt  be  mine. 
Ah,  I  have  ever  loved  it  well,  I  feel 
How  poor  without  it  were  all  earthly  joys. 

BERTH.   Where  should  we  look  for  happiness  on  earth, 
If  not  in  this  dear  land  of  innocence  ? 
Here,  where  old  truth  hath  its  familiar  home, 
Where  fraud  and  guile  are  strangers,  envy  ne'er 
Shall  dim  the  sparkling  fountain  of  our  bliss, 
And  ever  bright  the  hours  shall  o'er  us  glide. 
There  do  I  see  thee,  in  true  manly  worth, 
The  foremost  o.c  the  free  and  of  thy  peers, 
Revered  with  homage  pure  and  unconstrained, 
Wielding  a  power  that  kings  might  envy  thee. 

Run.        And  thee  I  see,  thy  sex's  crowning  gem, 

With  thy  sweet  woman  grace  and  wakeful  love, 


WILHELM    TELL.  63 

Building  a  heaven  for  me  within  my  home, 
And,  as  the  springtime  scatters  forth  her  flowers, 
Adorning  with  thy  charms  my  path  of  life, 
And  spreading  joy  and  sunshine  all  around. 

BERTH.    And  this  it  was,  dear  friend,  that   caused  my 

grief, 

To  see  thee  blast  this  life's  supremest  bliss, 
With  thine  own  hand.    Ah  !  what  had  been  my 

fate, 

Had  I  been  forced  to  follow  some  proud  lord, 
Some  ruthless  despot,  to  his  gloomy  castle  ! 
Here  are  no  castles,  here  no  bastioned  walls 
Divide  me  from  a  people  I  can  bless. 

RUD.        Yet,  how  to  free  myself ;  to  loose  the  coils 

Which  I  have  madly  twined  around  my  head? 

BERTH.    Tear  them  asunder  with  a  man's  resolve. 
Whatever  the  event,  stand  by  the  people. 
It  is  thy  post  by  birth. 

[Hunting  horns  are  heard  in  the  distance. 
But  hark!     The  chase! 

Farewell,  —  'tis  needful  we  should  part  —  away ! 
Fight  for  thy  land ;  thou  tightest  for  thy  love. 
One  foe  fills  all  our  souls  with  dread  ;  the  blow 
That  makes  one  free  emancipates  us  all. 

[Exeunt  severally. 
SCENE  III. 

A  meadow  near  Altdorf.  Trees  in  the  foreground.  Al  the  back 
of  the  stage  a  cap  upon  a  pole.  The  prospect  is  bounded  by  the 
Bannberg,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  snow-capped  mountain. 

FRIESHARDT  and  LEUTHOLD  on  guard. 

FRIESS.    We  keep  our  watch  in  vain.     There's  not  a  soul 
Will  pass  and  do  obeisance  to  the  cap. 
But  yesterday  the  place  swarmed  like  a  fair ; 
Now  the  whole  green  looks  like  a  very  desert, 
Since  yonder  scarecrow  hung  upon  the  pole. 

LEUTH.    Only  the  vilest  rabble  show  themselves, 

And  wave  their  tattered  caps  in  mockery  at  us. 

All  honest  citizens  would  sooner  make 

A  tedious  circuit  over  half  the  town 

Than  bend  their  backs  before  our  master's  cap. 


FRIESS.   They  were  obliged  to  pass  this  way  at  noon, 
As  they  were  coming  from  the  council  house. 
I  counted  then  upon  a  famous  catch, 
For  no  one  thought  of  bowing  to  the  cnp. 
But  Rossehnann,  the  priest,  was  even  with  me  : 
Coming  just  then  from  some  sick  penitent, 
He  stands  before  the  pole  —  raises  the  Host  — 
The  Sacrist,  too,  must  tinkle  with  his  bell  — 
When  down  they  dropped  on  knee —  myself  an 

all 
In  reverence  to  the  Host,  but  not  the  cap. 

LEUTH.    Hark  ye,  companion,  I've  a  shrewd  suspicion, 
Our  post's  no  better  than  the  pillory. 
It  is  a  burning  shame,  a  trooper  should 
Stand  sentinel  before  an  empty  cap. 
And  every  honest  fellow  must  despise  us, 
To  do  obeisance  to  a  cap,  too !     Faith, 
I  never  heard  an  order  so  absurd  ! 

FRIESS.   Why  not,  an't  please  thee,  to  an  empty  cap. 

Thou'st  ducked,  I'm  sure,  to  many  an  empty 
sconce. 

[HlLDEGARD,    MECHTHILD,  and   ELSBETH 

enter  icith  their  children  and  station 
themselves  around  the  pole. 
LEUTH.    And  thou  art  an  officious  sneaking  knave, 

That's  fond  of  bringing  honest  folks  to  trouble. 
For  my  part,  he  that  likes  may  pass  the  cap  : 
I'll  shut  my  eyes  and  take  no  note  of  him. 
MECH.      There  hangs  the  viceroy !   Your  obeisance,  chil- 
dren ! 
ELS.         I  would  to  God  he'd  go,  and  leave  his  cap  ! 

The  country  would  be  none  the  worse  for  it. 
FRIESSHARDT  (driving  them  away). 

Out  of  the  way  !     Confounded  pack  of  gossips  ! 
Who  sent  for  you  ?    Go,  send  your  husbands 

here, 
If  they  have  courage  to  defy  the  order. 

[TELL  enters  with  his  crossbow,  leading  his 
son  WALTER  by  the  hand.  They  pass 
the  hat  without  noticing  it,  and  advance 
to  the  front  of  the  stage. 


WILHELM    TELL.  65 

WALTER  (pointing  to  the  JBaamfarg). 

Father,  is't  true,  that  on  the  mountain  there, 
The  trees,  if  wounded  with  a  hatchet,  bleed  ? 

TELL.       Who  says  so,  boy? 

WALTER.  The  master  herdsman,  father ! 

He  tells  us  there's  a  charm  upon  the  trees, 
And  if  a  man  shall  injure  them,  the  hand 
That  struck  the  blow  will  grow  from  out  the 
grave. 

TELL.       There  is  a  charm  about  them,  that's  the  truth. 
Dost  see  those  glaciers  yonder,  those  white  horns, 
That  seem  to  melt  away  into  the  sky  ? 

WALT.     They  are  the  peaks  that  thunder  so  at  night, 
And  send  the  avalanches  down  upon  us. 

TELL.       They  are ;  and  Altdorf  long  ago  had  been 

Submerged  beneath  these  avalanches'  weight, 
Did  not  the  forest  there  above  the  town 
Stand  like  a  bulwark  to  arrest  their  fall. 

WALTER  (after  musing  a  little). 

And   are   there   countries  with   no  mountains, 
father  ? 

TELL.       Yes,  if  we  travel  downwards  from  our  heights, 
And  keep  descending  in  the  rivers'  courses, 
We  reach  a  wide  and  level  country,  where 
Our  mountain  torrents  brawl  and  foam  no  more, 
And  fair,  large  rivers  glide  serenely  on. 
All  quarters  of  the  heaven  may  there  be  scanned 
Without  impediment.     The  corn  grows  there 
In  broad  and  lovely  fields,  and  all  the  land 
Is  fair  as  any  garden  to  the  view. 

WALT.     But,  father,  tell  me,  wherefore  haste  we  not 
Away  to  this  delightful  land,  instead 
Of  toiling  here,  and  struggling  as  we  do? 

TELL.       The  land  is  fair  and  bountiful  as  Heaven  ; 
But  they  who  till  it  never  may  enjoy 
The  fruits  of  what  they  sow. 

WALTER.  Live  they  not  free, 

As  you  do,  on  the  land  their  fathers  left  them  ? 

TELL.       The  fields  are  all  the  bishop's  or  the  king's. 

WALT.     But  they  may  freely  hunt  among  the  woods? 

TELL.      The  game  is  all  the  monarch's  —  bird  and  beast. 


66 


WILHELM    TELL. 


WALT      But  they,  at  least,  may  surely  fish  the  streams? 
TELL.       Stream,  lake,  and  sea,  all  to  the  king  belong 
WALT.     Who  is  this  king,  of  whom  they  re  so  at  raid  ? 
TELL.       He  is  the  man  who  fosters  and  protects  them. 
WALT.     Have  they  not  courage  to  protect  themselves? 
TELL.       The  neighbor  there  dare  not  his  neighbor  trust. 
WALT.     I  should  want  breathing  room  in  such  a  land, 

I'd  rather  dwell  beneath  the  avalanches. 
TELL.       Tis  better,  child,  to  have  these  glacier  peaks 
Behind  one's  back  than  evil-minded  men! 

[They  are  about  to  pass  on. 
WALT.     See,  father,  see  the  cap  on  yonder  pole  ! 
TELL.       What  is  the  cap  to  us  ?     Come,  let's  be  gone. 

[As  he  is  going,  FBIESSHARDT,  presenting  his 

pike,  stops  him. 

FRIESS.    Stand,  I  command  you,  in  the  emperor's  name. 
TELL  (seizing  the  pike). 

What  would  ye  ?  Wherefore  do  ye  stop  my  path  ? 
FKIESS.    You've  broke  the  mandate,  and  must  go  with  us. 
LEUTH.    You  have  not  done  obeisance  to  the  cap. 
Friend,  let  me  go. 

Away,  away  to  prison ! 
Father  to  prison !     Help ! 

[  Calling  to  the  side  scene. 

Tliis  way,  you  men ! 
Good   people,  help!     They're  dragging  him  to 

prison ! 
[ROSSELMANN,  the  priest,  and  the  SACRISTAN, 

with  three  other  men,  enter. 
SACRIS.    What's  here  amiss? 

Ross.  Why  do  you  seize  this  man  i 

FUIESS.    He  is  an  enemy  of  the  king  —  a  traitor! 
TKLL  (seizing  him  with  violence). 

A  traitor,  I ! 
ROSSELMANN.  Friend,  thou  art  wrong.    'Tis  Tell, 

An  honest  man,  and  worthy  citizen. 
WALTER  (descries  FURST,  and  runs  up  to  him). 

Grandfather,  help  !  they  want  to  seize  my  father  ! 
FRIESS.   Away  to  prison  ! 
FURST  (running  in).  Stay  !  I  offer  bail. 

For  God's  sake,  Tell,  what  is  the  matter  here? 
[MELCHTHAL  and  STAUFFAC'HER  enter. 


TELL. 

FRIESS. 

WALT. 


WILHELM    TELL.  67 

LEIJTH.    He  has  contemned  the  viceroy's  sovereign  power, 

Refusing  flatly  to  acknowledge  it. 
SIAUFF.  Has  Tell  done  this? 

AIiiLCHTHAL.  Villain,  thou  knowest  'tis  false ! 

LEUTH.    He  has  not  made  obeisance  to  the  cap. 
FCKST.    And  shall  for  this  to  prison  ?     Come,  my  friend, 

Take  my  security,  and  let  him  go. 
FBIESS.    Keep  your  security  for  yourself  —  you'll  need  it. 

We  only  do  our  duty.     Hence  with  him. 
MELCHTHAL  (  to  the  country  peojtie). 

This  is  too  bad — shall  we  stand  by,  and  see  them. 
Drag  him  away  before  our  very  eyes  ? 
SACRIS.    We  are  the  strongest.     Don't  endure  it,  friends. 

Our  countrymen  will  back  us  to  a  man. 
FRIESS.    Who  dares  resist  the  governor's  commands  ? 
OTHER  THREE  PEASANTS  (running  in). 

We'll   help  you.     What's  the  matter?    Down 

with  them  ! 

[HiLDEGARD,  MscHTHiLD,  and  ELSBETH  return. 
TELL.       Go,  go,  good  people,  I  can  help  myself. 

Think  you,  had  I  a  mind  to  use  my  strength, 
These  pikes  of  theirs  should  daunt  me  ? 
MELCHTHAL  (to  FRIESSHARDT).  Only  try  — 

Try,  if  you  dare,  to  force  him  from  amongst  us. 
FURST  and  STAUFFACHER. 

Peace,  peace,  friends ! 

FRIESSHARDT  (loudly).  Riot !  Insurrection,  ho  ! 

[Hunting  horns  without. 
WOMEN.  The  governor ! 

FRIESSHARDT  (raising  his  voice) .     Rebellion  !     Mutiny ! 
STAUFF.  Roar,  till  you  burst,  knave  ! 
ROSSELMANN   and  "MELCHTHAL.      Will   you   hold   your 

tongue  ? 
FRIESSHARDT  (calling  still  louder) . 

Help,  help,  I  say,  the  servants  of  the  law ! 
FURST.     The  viceroy  here  !   Then  we  shall  smart  for  thist 
[Enter  GESSLER  on  horseback,  with  a  falcon 
on    his  wrist,'    RUDOLPH   DER    H ARRAS, 
BERTHA,  and  RUDEXZ,  and  a  numerous 
train  of  armed  attendants,  who  form  a 
circle  of  lances  around  the  whole  stage. 


gg  WILHELM    TELL. 

\ 

II A R.        Room  for  the  viceroy  ! 

GESSLER.  Drive  the  clowns  aPart< 

'Why  throng  the  people  thus?     Who  calls  for 

help  9  [  General  silence. 

Who  was  it  ?    I  will  know. 

•  [FRIESSHARDT  steps  forward. 
And  who  art  thou  ? 
And  why  hast  thou  this  man  in  custody  ? 

[  Gives  his  falcon  to  an  attendant. 

FBI  ESS.   Dread  sir,  I  am  a  soldier  of  your  guard, 
And  stationed  sentinel  beside  the  cap ; 
This  man  I  apprehended  in  the  act 
Of  passing  it  without  obeisance  due, 
So  I  arrested  him,  as  you  gave  order,  ^ 
Whereon  the  people  tried  to  rescue  him. 

GESSLER  (after  a  pause). 

And  do  you,  Tell,  so  lightly  hold  your  king, 
And  me,  who  act  as  his  vicegerent  here, 
That  you  refuse  the  greeting  to  the  cap 
I  hung  aloft  to  test  your  loyalty  ? 
I  read  in  this  a  disaffected  spirit. 

TFLL.       Pardon  me,  good  my  lord  !     The  action  sprung 
From  inadvertence,  — not  from  disrespect. 
Were  I  discreet,  I  were  not  William  Tell. 
Forgive  me  now  — I'll  not  offend  again. 

GKSSLER  (after  a  pause). 

I  hear,  Tell,  you're  a  master  with  the  bow,  — 
And  bear  the  palm  away  from  every  rival. 

Wu/r.     That  must  be  true,  sir!    At  a  hundred  yards 
He'll  shoot  an  apple  for  you  off  the  tree. 
Is  that  boy  thine,  Tell  ? 

Yes,  my  gracious  lord. 
Hast  any  more  of  them  ? 

T.  LL.  Two  boys,  my  lord. 

Gi  SSL.     And,  of  the  two,  which  dost  thou  love  the  most? 

Ti  LL.       Sir,  both  the  boys  are  dear  to  me  alike. 

Gi  SSL.     Then,  Tell,  since  at  a  hundred  yards  thou  canst 
Bring  down  the  apple  from  the  tree,  thou  shalt 
Approve  thy  skill  before  me.      Take  thy  bow  — 
Thou  hast  it  there  at  hand  —  and    make  thee 
ready 


WILHELM    TELL. 


69 


To  shoot  an  apple  from  the  stripling's  head! 
But  take  this  counsel,  —  look  well  to  thine  aim, 
See  that  thou  hittest  the  apple  at  the  first, 
For,  shouldst  thou  miss,  thy  head  shall  pay  the 
forfeit.  \_All  give  signs  of  horror. 

TELL.       What  monstrous  thing,  my  lord,  is  this  you  ask  ? 
That  I,  from  the  head  of  mine  own  child ! — No,  no ! 
It  cannot  be,  kind  sir,  you  meant  not  that  — 
God  in  His  grace  forbid  !     You  could  not  ask 
A  father  seriously  to  do  that  thing  ! 

GESSL.     Thou  art  to  shoot  an  apple  from  his  head  ! 
I  do  desire  —  command  it  so. 

TELL.  What,  I ! 

Level  my  crossbow  at  the  darling  head 
Of  mine  own  child  ?     No  — rather  let  me  die  I 

GESSL.     Or  thou  must  shoot,  or  with  thee  dies  the  boy. 

TELL.       Shall  I  become  the  murderer  of  my  child  ! 

You  have  no  children,  sir  —  you  do  not  know 
The  tender  th robbings  of  a  father's  heart. 

GESSL.     How  now,  Tell,  so  discreet  upon  a  sudden 
I  had  been  told  thou  wert  a  visionary,  — 
A  wanderer  from  the  paths  of  common  men. 
Thou  lovest  the  marvellous.     So  have  I  now 
Culled  out  for  thee  a  task  of  special  daring. 
Another  man  might  pause  and  hesitate  ; 
Thou  dashest  at  it,  heart  and  soul,  at  once. 

BERTH.  Oh,  do  not  jest,  my  lord,  with  these  poor  souls! 
See,  how  they  tremble,  and  how  pale  they  look, 
So  little  used  are  they  to  hear  thee  jest. 

GESSL.     Who  tells  thee  that  I  jest? 

[Grasping  a  branch  above  his  head. 

Here  is  the  apple. 

Room  there,  I  say !     And  let  him  take  his  dis- 
tance — 

Just  eighty  paces  —  as  the  custom  is  — 
Not  an  inch  more  or  less  !     Tt  was  his  boast, 
That  at  a  hundred  he  could  hit  his  man. 
Now,  archer,  to  your  task,  and  look  you  miss  not ! 

HAK.        Heavens  !  this  grows  serious  —  down,  boy,  on 

your  knees, 
And  beg  the  governor  to  spare  your  life. 


70  WILHELM   TELL. 

FURST.  (aside  to  MELCHTHAL,  who  can  scarcely  restrain 

his  impatience). 
Command  yourself  —  be  calm,  I  beg  of  you  ! 

BERTHA  (to  the  governor). 

Let  this  suffice  you,  sir !     It  is  inhuman 

To  trifle  with  a  father's  anguish  thus. 

Although  this  wretched  man  had  forfeited 

Both  life  and  limb  for  such  a  slight  offence, 

Already  has  he  suffered  tenfold  death. 

Send  him  away  uninjured  to  his  home  ; 

He'll    know    thee    well    in    future;    and    this 

hour 
He  and  his  children's  children  will  remember. 

GESSL.     Open  a  way  there  —  quick  !     Why  this  delay  ? 
Thy  life  is  forfeited  ;  I  might  despatch  thee, 
And  see  I  graciously  repose  thy  fate 
Upon  the  skill  of  thine  own  practised  hand. 
No  cause  has  he  to  say  his  doom  his  harsh, 
Who's  made  the  master  of  his  destiny. 
Thou  boastest  of  thy  steady  eye.     'Tis  well ! 
Now  is  a  fitting  time  to  show  thy  skill. 
The  mark  is  worthy,  and  the  prize  is  great. 
To  hit  the  bull's-eye  in  the  target ;  that 
Can  many  another  do  as  well  as  thou ; 
But  he,  methinks,  is  master  of  his  craft 
Who  can  at  all  times  on  his  skill  rely, 
Nor  lets  his  heart  disturb  or  eye  or  hand. 

FURST.    My  lord,  we  bow  to  your  authority  ; 

But,  oh,  let  justice  yield  to  mercy  here. 
Take  half  my  property,  nay,  take  it  all, 
But  spare  a  father  this  unnatural  doom  ! 

WALT.     Grandfather,  do  not  kneel  to  that  bad  man ! 
Say,  where  am  I  to  stand  ?     I  do  not  fear  ; 
My  father  strikes  the  bird  upon  the  wing, 
And  will  not  miss  now  when  'twould  harm  his 
boy! 

STAUFF.  Does  the  child's  innocence  not  touch  your  heart? 

ROSSEL.  Bethink  you,  sir,  there  is  a  God  in  heaven, 

To  whom  you  must  account  for  all  your  deeds. 

GESSLER  (pointing  to  the  boy). 

Bind  him  to  yonder  lime  tree  straight! 


WILHELM   TELL.  71 

WALTER.  JBind  me  ? 

No,  I  will  not  be  bound  !     I  will  be  still, 

Still  as  a  lamb  —  nor  even  draw  my  breath  ! 

But  if  you  bind  me  I  cannot  be  still. 

Then  I  shall  writhe  and  struggle  with  my  bonds. 
HAK.        But  let  your  eyes  at  least  be  bandaged,  boy ! 
WALT.     And  why  my  eyes?    No!    Do  you  think  I  fear 

An  arrow  from  my  father's  hand  ?    Not  I ! 

I'll  wait  it  firmly,  nor  so  much  as  wink ! 

Quick,   father,    show   them    that    thou   art   an 
archer ! 

He  doubts  thy  skill  —  he  thinks  to  ruin  us. 

Shoot  then  and  hit  though  but  to  spite  the  tyrant ! 
[He  goes  to  the  lime  tree,  and  an  apple  is 

placed  on  his  head. 
MELCHTHAL  (to  the  country  people}. 

What !     Is  this  outrage  to  be  perpetrated 

Before  our  very  eyes  ?     Where  is  our  oath  ? 
STACTFF.  'Tis  all  in  vain.     We  have  no  weapons  here; 

And  see  the  wood  of  lances  that  surrounds  us ! 
MELCH.   Oh!  would  to  heaven  that  we  had  struck  at 
once! 

God  pardon  those  who  counselled  the  delay ! 
GESSLEB  (to  TELL). 

Now,  to  thy  task!     Men   bear  not  arms  for 
naught. 

'Tis  dangerous  to  carry  deadly  weapons, 

And  on  the  archer  oft  his  shaft  recoils. 

This  right  these  haughty  peasant-churls  assume 

Trenches  upon  their  master's  privileges. 

None  should  be  armed  but  those  who  bear  com- 
mand. 

It  pleases  you  wear  the  bow  and  bolt ; 

Well,  be  it  so.     I  will  provide  the  mark. 
TELL  (bends  the  bow  and  fixes  the  arrow). 

A  lane  there  !     Room  ! 
STAUFFACHER.  What,  Tell  ?    You  would  —  no,  no ! 

You  shake  —  your  hand's  unsteady  —  your  knees 

tremble ! 
TELL  (letting  the  bow  sink  down). 

There's  something  swims  before  mine  eyes ! 


72  WILHELM   TELL. 

WOMEN.  Great  Heaven ! 

TELL.       Release  me  from  this  shot !     Here  is  my  heart ! 

[  Tears  open  his  breast. 
Summon   your   troopers  —  let  them  strike  me 

down ! 
GESSL.     I  do  not  want  thy  life,  Tell,  but  the  shot. 

Thy  talent's  universal !     Nothing  daunts  thee  ! 
Thou  canst  direct  the  rudder  like  the  bow ! 
Storms  fright  not  thee  when   there's  a  life  at 

stake. 

Now,  savior,  help  thyself, —  thou  savest  all! 
[TELL  stand's  fearfully  agitated  by  contending 
emotions,  his  hands  moving  convulsively, 
and  his  eyes  turning  alternately  to   the 
governor  and  heaven.     /Suddenly  he  takes 
a  second  arrow  from  his  quiver  and  sticks 
it  in  his  belt.     The  governor  icatches  all 
these  motions. 
WALTER  (beneath  the  lime  tree). 

Come,  father,  shoot !     I'm  not  afraid ! 
TELL.  It  must  be  ! 

[  Collects  himself  and  levels  the  bow. 
RUDENZ  (who  all  the  while  has  been  standing  in  a  state 
of  violent  excitement,  and  has  with  difficulty 
restrained  himself,  advances). 
My  lord,  you  will  not  urge  this  matter  further. 
You  will  not.     It  was  surely  but  a  test. 
You've  gained  your  object.     Rigor  pushed  too 

far 

Is  sure  to  miss  its  aim,  however  good, 
As  snaps  the  bow  that's  all  too  straightly  bent. 
GESSL.     Peace,  till  your  counsel's  asked  for  ! 
RUDENZ.  I  will  speak! 

Ay,  and  I  dare !     I  reverence  my  king; 
But  acts  like  these  must  make  his  name  abhorred. 
He  sanctions  not  this  cruelty.     I  dare 
Avouch  the  fact.    And  you  outstep  your  powers 
In  handling  thus  an  unoffending  people. 
GESSL.     Ha  !  thou  growest  bold  methinks  ! 
RITHENZ.  I  have  been. dumb 

To  all  the  oppressions  I  was  doomed  to  see. 


WILHELM    TELL.  73 

I've  closed  mine  eyes  that  they  might  not  behold 

them, 

Bade  my  rebellious,  swelling  heart  be  still, 
And  pent  its  struggles  down  within  my  breast. 
But  to  be  silent  longer  were  to  be 
A  traitor  to  my  king  and  country  both. 

BERTHA  (casting  herself  between  him  and  (lie  governor). 
Oh,  heavens!  you  but  exasperate  his  rage! 

RUD.         My  people  I  forsook,  renounced  my  kindred  — 
Broke  all  the  ties  of  nature  that  I  might 
Attach  myself  to  you.     I  madly  thought 
That  I  should  best  advance  the  general  weal, 
By  adding  sinews  to  the  emperor's  power. 
The  scales  have  fallen  from  mine  eyes  —  I  see 
The  fearful  precipice  on  which  I  stand. 
You've  led  my  youthful  judgment  far  astray, — 
Deceived  my  honest  heart.     With  best  intent, 
I  had  well  nigh  achieved  my  country's-ruin. 

GESSL.     Audacious  boy,  this  language  to  thy  lord  ? 

RUD.        The  emperor  is  my  lord,  not  you  !     I'm  free 
As  you  by  birth,  and  I  can  cope  with  you 
In  every  virtue  that  beseems  a  knight. 
And  if  you  stood  not  here  in  that  king's  name, 
Which  I  respect  e'en  where  'tis  most  abused, 
I'd  throw  my  gauntlet  down,  and  you  should  give 
An  answer  to  my  gage  in  knightly  fashion. 
Ay,  beckon  to  your  troopers  !     Here  1  stand  ; 
But  not  like  these             [Pointing  to  the  people. 
—  unarmed.     I  have  a  sword, 
Anu  he  that  stirs  one  step 

STAUFFACHER  (exclaims).  The  apple's  down  ! 

[  While  the  attention   of  the  crowd  has' ban 

directed  to  the  spot  where  BERTHA  liad  cast 

herself   between    RUDENZ    and    GESSLER, 

TELL  has  shot. 

KOSSKL.  The  boy's  alive! 

MANY  VOICES.  The  apple  has  been  struck  ! 

[WALTER  FURST  staggers,  and  is  about  lofatt, 
BERTHA  supports  him. 

GESSLER  (astonished). 

How  ?    Has  he  shot  ?    The  madman  ! 


74  WILHELM   TELL. 

BERTHA.  Worthy  father ! 

Pray  you  compose  yourself.     The  boy's  alive ! 
WALTER  (runs  in  with  the  apple). 

Here  is  the  apple,  father !     Well  I  knew 
You  would  not  harm  your  boy. 

[TELL  stands  with  his  body  bent  forwards, 
as  though  he  would  follow  the  arrow.  His 
bow  drops  from  his  hand.  When  he  sees 
the  boy  advancing,  he  hastens  to  meet  him 
with  open  arms,  and  embracing  him  pas- 
sionately sinks  down  with  him  quite  ex- 
hausted. All  crowd  round  them  deeply 
affected. 

BERTHA.  Oh,  ye  kind  heavens  ! 

FURST   (to  father  and  son).      My   children,   my   dear 

children ! 

STAUFFACHER.  God  be  praised ! 

LEUTH.  .  Almighty  powers  !     That  was  a  shot  indeed  ! 

It  will  be  talked  of  to  the  end  of  time. 
HAR.        This  feat  of  Tell,  the  archer,  will  be  told 

While  yonder  mountains  stand  upon  their  base. 

[Hands  the  apple  to  GESSLER. 

GESSL.    By  heaven  !  the  apple's  cleft  right  through  the 

core. 

It  was  a  master  shot  I  must  allow. 
ROSSEL.  The  shot  was  good.    But  woe  to  him  who  drove 

The  man  to  tempt  his  God  by  such  a  feat! 
STAUFF.  Cheer  up,  Tell,  rise !     You've  nobly  freed  your- 
self, 

And  now  may  go  in  quiet  to  your  home. 
ROSSEL.  Come,  to  the  mother  let  us  bear  her  son  ! 

[  They  are  about  to  lead  him  off. 
GESSL.     A  word,  Tell. 
TELL.  Sir,  your  pleasure? 

GESSLER.  Thou  didst  place 

A  second  arrow  in  thy  belt  —  nay,  nay  ! 
I  saw  it  well  —  what  was  thy  purpose  with  it? 
TELL  (confused).     It  is  the  custom  witli  all  archers,  sir. 
GESSL.     No,  Tell,  I  cannot  let  that  answer  pass. 

There  was  some  other  motive,  well  I  know. 
Frankly  and  cheerfully  confess  the  truth  ;  — 


WILHELM   TELL.  75 

Whate'er  it  be  I  promise  thee  thy  life, 
Wherefore  the  second  arrow? 

TELL.  Well,  my  lord.. 

Since  you  have  promised  not  to  take  my  life, 
I  will,  without  reserve,  declare  the  truth. 

\_He  draws  the  arrow  from  his  belt,  and  fixes 

his  eyes  sternly  upon  the  governor. 
If  that  my  hand  had  struck  my  darling  child, 
This  second  arrow  I  had  aimed  at  you, 
And,  be  assured,  I  should  not  then  have  missed. 
GESSL.     Well,  Tell,  I  promised  thou  shouldst  have  thy 

life; 

I  gave  my  knightly  word,  and  I  will  keep  it. 
Yet,  as  I  know  the  malice  of  thy  thoughts, 
I  will  remove  thee  hence  to  sure  confinement, 
Where  neither  sun  nor  moon  shall  reach  thine 

eyes, 

Thus  from  thy  arrows  I  shall  be  secure. 
Seize  on  him,  guards,  and  bind  him. 

[  They  bind  him. 

STAUFFACHER.  How,  my  lord  — 

How  can  you  treat  in  such  a  way  a  man 
On  whom  God's  hand  has  plainly  been  revealed? 
GESSL.     Well,  let  us  see  if  it  will  save  him  twice ! 

Remove  him  to  my  ship;  I'll  follow  straight. 
In  person  I  will  see  him  lodged  at  Kilssnacht. 
ROSSEL.  You  dare  not  do  it.    Nor  durst  the  emperor's  self, 

So  violate  our  dearest  chartered  rights. 
GESSL.     Where  are  they  ?     Has  the  emperor  confirmed 

them  ? 

He  never  has.     And  only  by  obedience 
Need  you  expect  to  win  that  favor  from  him. 
You  are  all  rebels 'gainst  the  emperor's  power  — 
And  bear  a  desperate  and  rebellious  spirit. 
I  know  you  all  — I  see  you  through  and  through. 
Him  do  I  single  from  amongst  you  now, 
But  in  his  guilt  you  all  participate. 
The  wise  will  study  silence  and  obedience. 
[Exit,  followed  by  BKRTHA,  RUDENZ,  H  ARRAS, 
and  attendants.      FRIESSHARDT    and  LEU- 
THOLD  remain. 


76  WILHELM    TELL. 

FURST  (in  violent  anguish) . 

All's  over  no\v !     He  is  resolved  to  bring 
Destruction  on  myself  and  all  my  house. 

STAUFF.  (to  TELL).  Oh,  why  did  you  provoke  the  tyrant's 


rage 


TELL.      Let  him  be  calm  who  feels  the  pangs  I  felt. 
STAUFF.  Alas  !  Alas  !     Our  hope  is  gone. 

With  you  we  all  are  fettered  and  enchained. 
COUNTRY  PEOPLE  (surrounding  TELL). 

Our  last  remaining  comfort  goes  with  you  ! 
LEUTH.  (approaching  him). 

I'm  sorry  for  you,  Tell,  but  must  obey. 
TELL.       Farewell ! 
WALTER  TELL  (clinging  to  him  in  great  agony). 

Oh,  father,  father,  my  dear  father! 
TELL  (pointing  to  heaven). 

Thy  father  is  on  high  —  appeal  to  him! 
STAUFF.  Hast  thou  no  message,  Tell,  to  send  thy  wife  ? 
TELL  (clasping  the  boy  passionately  to  his  breast). 

The  boy's  uninjured  ;  God  will  succor  me  ! 

[Tears  himself  suddenly  away,  and  follows 
the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I. 

Eastern  shore  of  the  lake  of  Lucerne;  rugged  and  singularly 
shaped  rocks  close  the  prospect  to  the  west.  The  lake  is  agitated, 
violent  roaring  and  rushing  of  wind,  with  thunder  and  lightning 
at  intervals. 

KUNZ  OF  GERSAU,  FISHERMAN,  and  BOY. 

KUNZ.      I  saw  it  with  these  eyes  !     Believe  me,  friend, 
It  happened  all  precisely  as  I've  said. 

FISHER.  Tell,  made  a  prisoner  and  borne  off  to  Kiissnacht? 
The  best  man  in  the  land,  the  bravest  arm, 
Had  we  resolved  to  strike  for  liberty  ! 

KUNZ.     The  viceroy  takes  him  up  the  lake  in  person : 
They  were  about  to  go  on  board  as  I 
Left  Fltielen  ;  but  still  the  gathering  storm, 


WILHELM    TELL. 


77 


That  drove  me  here  to  land  so  suddenly, 

Perchance  has  hindered  their  abrupt  departure. 
FISHER.  Our  Tell  in  chains,  and  in  the  viceroy's  power ! 

Oh,  trust  me,  Gessler  will  entomb  him  where 

He  never  more  shall  see  the  light  of  day  ; 

For,  Tell  once  free,  the  tyrant  well  may  dread 

The  just  revenge  of  one  so  deep  incensed. 
Kuxz.      The  old  Landamman,  too  —  von  Attinghaus  — 

They  say,  is  lying  at  the  point  of  death. 
FISHER.  Then  the  last  anchor  of  our  hopes  gives  way  ! 

He  was  the  only  man  who  dared  to  raise 

His  voice  in  favor  of  the  people's  rights. 
Kuxz.      The  storm  grows  worse  and  worse.     So,  fare  ye 
well! 

I'll  go  and  seek  out  quarters  in  the  village. 

There's  not  a  chance  of  getting  off  to-day. 

[Exit. 
FISHER.  Tell  dragged  to  prison,  and  the  baron  dead  ! 

Now,  tyranny,  exalt  thy  insolent  front  — 

Throw   shame  aside !      The  voice   of  truth  is 
silenced, 

The  eye  that  watched  for  us  in  darkness  closed, 

The  arm  that  should  have  struck  thee  down  in 

chains ! 
BOY.        'Tis  hailing  hard  — come,  let  us  to  the  cottage  ! 

This  is  no  weather  to  be  out  in,  father ! 
FISHER.  Rage  on,  ye  winds  !     Ye  lightnings,  flash  your 
fires! 

Burst,   ye   swollen   clouds !      Ye    cataracts    of 
heaven, 

Descend,  and  drown  the  country !     In  the  germ, 

Destroy  the  generations  yet  unborn  ! 

Ye  savage  elements,  be  lords  of  all! 

Return,  ye  bears  ;  ye  ancient  wolves,  return 

To  this  wide,  howling  waste  !    The  land  is  yours. 

Who  would  live  here  when  liberty  is  gone  ? 
BOY.        Hark  !     How  the  wind  whistles  and  the  whirl 
pool  roars; 

I  never  saw  a  storm  so  fierce  as  this ! 
FISHER.  To  level  at  the  head  of  his  own  child  1 

Never  had  father  such  command  before. 


78  WILHELM  TELL: 

And  shall  not  nature,  rising  in  wild  wrath, 
Revolt  against  the  deed?     I  should  not  marvel, 
Though   to   the   lake   these   rocks  should   bow 

their  heads, 

Though  yonder  pinnacles,  yon  towers  of  ice, 
That,  since  creation's  dawn,  have  known  no  thaw 
Should,  from  their  lofty  summits,  melt  a\vay ; 
Though  yonder  mountains,  yon  primeval  cliffs, 
Should  topple  down,  and  a  new  deluge  whelm 
Beneath  its  waves  all  living  men's  abodes  ! 

[Hells  heard. 

BOY.        Hark !  they  are  ringing  on  the  mountain  yonder ! 
They  surely  see  some  vessel  in  distress, 
And  toll  the  bell  that  we  may  pray  for  it. 

[Ascends  a  rock. 

FISHER.  Woe  to  the  bark  that  now  pursues  its  course, 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  these  storm-tossed  waves. 
Nor  helm  nor  steersman  here  can  aught  avail ; 
The  storm  is  master.     Man  is  like  a  ball, 
Tossed  'twixt  the  winds  and  billows.  Far  or  near, 
No  haven  offers  him  its  friendly  shelter ! 
Without  one  ledge  to  grasp,  the  sheer,  smooth 

rocks 

Look  down  inhospitably  on  his  despair, 
And  only  tender  him  their  flinty  breasts. 

BOY  (calling  from  above). 

Father,  a  ship  ;  and  bearing  down  from  Fltielen. 

FISHER.  Heaven  pity  the  poor  wretches !  When  the  storm 
Is  once  entangled  in  this  strait  of  ours, 
It  rages  like  some  savage  beast  of  prey, 
Struggling  against  its  cage's  iron  bars. 
Howling,  it  seeks  an  outlet  —  all  in  vain  ; 
For  the  rocks  hedge  it  round  on  every  side, 
Walling  the  narrow  pass  as  high  as  heaven. 

\_IIe  ascends  a  cliff. 

BOY.        It  is  the  governor  of  Uri's  ship ; 

By  its  red  poop  I  know  it,  and  the  flag. 

FISHER.  Judgments  of  Heaven  !     Yes,  it  is  he  himself. 
It  is  the  governor  !     Yonder  he  sails, 
And  with  him  bears  the  burden  of  his  crimes! 
Soon  has  the  arm  of  the  avenger  found  himj 


WILHELM    TELL.  79 

Now  over  him  he  knows  a  mightier  lord. 

These  waves  yield  no  obedience  to  his  voice, 

These  rocks  bow  not  their  heads  before  his  cap. 

Boy,  do  not  pray ;  stay  not  the  Judge's  arm  ! 
BOY.         I  pray  not  for  the  governor  ;  I  pray 

For  Tell,  who  is  on  board  the  ship  with  him. 
FISHER.  Alas,  ye  blind,  unreasoning  elements  ! 

Must  ye,  in  punishing  one  guilty  head, 

Destroy  the  vessel  and  the  pilot  too  ? 
BOY.         See,  see,  they've  cleared  the  Buggisgrat ;  *  but 
now 

The  blast,  rebounding  from  the  Devil's  Minster,* 

Has  driven  them  back  on  the  Great  Axenberg.* 

I  cannot  see  them  now. 
FISHERMAN.  The  Hakmesser  * 

Is  there,  that's  foundered  many  a  gallant  ship. 

If  they  should  fail  to  double  that  with  skill, 

Their  bark  will  go  to  pieces  on  the  rocks 

That  hide  their  jagged  peaks  below  the  lake. 

They  have  on  board  the  very  best  of  pilots ; 

If  any  man  can  save  them,  Tell  is  he ; 

But  he  is  manacled,  both  hand  and  foot. 

[Enter  WILLIAM  TELL,  with  his  crossbow.  He 
enters  precipitately,  looks  irildly  round,  and 
testifies  the  most  violent  agitation.  When 
he  reaches  the  centre  of  the  stage,  he  throws 
himself  upon  his  knees,  and  stretches  out 
his  hands,  first  towards  the  earth,  then 
towards  heaven. 
BOY  (observing  him). 

See,  father !    Who  is  that  man,  kneeling  yonder  ? 
FISHER.  He  clutches  at  the  earth  with  both  his  hands, 

And  looks  as  though  he  were  beside  himself. 
BOY  (advancing). 

What  do  I  see?     Father,  come  here,  and  look  ! 
FISHERMAN  (approaches). 

Who  is  it  ?  God  in  heaven  !  What !  William  Tell, 

How  came  you  hither?   Speak,  Tell ! 
BOY.  Were  you  not 

In  yonder  ship,  a  prisoner,  and  in  chains  ? 

*  Rocks  on  the  shore  of  the  Lake  of  Lucerne. 


80  WILHELM    TELL. 

FISHER.  Were  they  not  bearing  you  away  to  Ktissnacht  ? 

TELL  (rising).     I  am  released. 

FISHERMAN  and  BOY.  Released,  oh  miracle  ! 

BOY.         Whence  came  you  here  ? 

TELL.  From  yonder  vessel ! 

FISHERMAN.  What? 

BOY.        Where  is  the  viceroy? 

TELL.  Drifting  on  the  waves. 

FISHER.  Is't  possible  ?    But  you !     How  are  you  here  ? 

How  'scaped  you   from    your  fetters    and   the 
storm  ? 

TELL.       By  God's  most  gracious  providence.     Attend. 

FISHER  and  BOY.     Say  on,  say  on  ! 

TELL.  You  know  what  passed  at  Altdorf  ? 

FISHER.  I  do  —  say  on ! 

TELL.  How  I  was  seized  and  bound, 

And  ordered  by  the  governor  to  Ktissnacht. 

FISHER.  And  how  with  you  at  Fluelen  he  embarked. 

All  this  we  know.     Say,  how  have  you  escaped? 

TELL.       I  lay  on  deck,  fast  bound  with  conls,  disarmed, 
In  utter  hopelessness.     I  did  not  think 
Again  to  see  the  gladsome  light  of  day, 
Nor  the  dear  faces  of  my  wife  and  children  ; 
And  eyed  disconsolate  the  waste  of  waters 

FISHER.  Oh,  wretched  man  ! 

TELL.  Then  we  put  forth  ;  the  viceroy, 

Rudolph  der  Harras,  and  their  suite.     My  bow 
And  quiver  lay  astern  beside  the  helm  ; 
And  just  as  we  had  reached  the  corner,  near 
The  Little  Axen,*  heaven  ordained  it  so, 
That  from  the  Gotthardt's  gorge,  a  hurricane 
Swept  down  upon  us  with  such  headlong  force. 
That  every  rower's  heart  within  him  sank, 
And  all  on  board  looked  for  a  watery  grave. 
Then  heard  I  one  of  the  attendant  tram, 
Turning  to  Gessler,  in  this  strain  accost  him : 
"  You  see  our  danger,  and  your  own,  my  lord 
And  that  we  hover  on  the  verge  of  death. 
The  boatmen  there  are  powerless  from  fear, 
Nor  are  they  confident  what  course  to  take; 

*  A  rock  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  of  Lucerne. 


WILHELM    TELL.  81 

Now,  liere  is  Tell,  a  stout  and  fearless  man, 
.    And  knows  to  steer  with  more  than  common 

skill. 

How  if  we  should  avail  ourselves  of  him 
In  this  emergency?"     The  viceroy  then 
Addressed  me  thus  :    "If  thou  wilt  undertake 
To  bring  us  through  this  tempest  safely,  Tell, 
I  might  consent  to  free  thee  from  thy  bonds." 
I  answered,  "  Yes,  my  lord,  with  God's  assistance, 
I'll  see  what  can  be  done,  and  help  us  heaven  !" 
On  this  they  loosed  me  from  my  bonds,  and  I 
Stood  by  the  helm  and  fairly  steered  along ; 
Yet  ever  eyed  my  shooting-gear  askance, 
And  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  shore, 
To   find    some   point   where   I   might   leap    to 

land : 

And  when  I  had  descried  a  shelving  crag, 
That  jutted,  smooth  atop,  into  the  lake 

FISHEE.  I  know  it.     'Tis  at  foot  of  the  Great  Axen  ; 

But  looks  so  steep,  I  never  could  have  dreamed 
'Twere  possible  to  leap  it  from  the  boat. 

TELL.       I  bade  the  men  put  forth  ^heir  utmost  might, 
Until  we  came  before  the  shelving  crag. 
For  there,  I  said,  the  danger  will  be  past ! 
Stoutly  they  pulled,  and  soon  we  neared   the 

point ; 

One  prayer  to  God  for  his  assisting  grace, 
And  straining  every  muscle,  I  brought  round 
The  vessel's  stern  close  to  the  rocky  wall ; 
Then  snatching  up  my  weapons,  with  a  bound 
I  swung  myself  upon  the  flattened  shelf, 
And  with  my  feet  thrust  off,  with  all  my  might, 
The  puny  bark  into  the  hell  of  waters. 
There  let  it  drift  about,  as  heaven  ordains ! 
Thus  am  I  here,  delivered  from  the  might 
Of  the  dread  storm,  and  man,  more  dreadful 
still. 

FISHER.  Tell,  Tell,  the  Lord  has  manifestly  wrought 
A  miracle  in  thy  behalf!  I  scarce 
Can  credit  my  own  eyes.     But  tell  me,  now, 
Whither  you  purpose  to  betake  yourself? 


82 


WILHELM    TELL. 


For  you  will  be  in  peril  should  the  viceroy 

Chance  to  escape  this  tempest  with  his  life. 
TELL.  I  heard  him  say,  as  I  lay  bound  on  board, 

His  purpose  was  to  disembark  at  Brunnen  j 

And,  crossing  Schwytz,  convey  me  to  his  castle. 
FISHER.  Means  he  to  go  by  land  ? 
TELL.  So  he  intends. 

FISHER.  Oh,  then,  conceal  yourself  without  delay ! 

Not  twice   will   heaven  release   you   from    his 

grasp. 
TELL.       Which  is  the  nearest  way  to  Arth  and   Ktiss- 

nacht  ? 
FISHER.  The  public  road  leads  by  the  way  of  Steinen, 

But  there's  a  nearer  road,  and  more  retired, 

That  goes  by  Lowerz,  which  my  boy  can  show 

you. 
TELL  (gives  him  his  hand). 

May  heaven  reward  your  kindness !     Fare  ye 
well! 

[As  fie  is  going  he  comes  back. 

Did  not  you  also  take  the  oath  at  Rootli? 

I  heard  your  name,  methinks. 
FISHERMAN.    .  Yes,  I  was  there, 

And  took  the  oath  of  the  confederacy  ; 
TELL.       Then  do  me  this  one  favor ;  speed  to  Btirglen  — 

My  wife  is  anxious  at  my  absence  —  tell  her 

That  I  am  free,  and  in  secure  concealment. 
FISHER.  But  whither  shall  I  tell  her  you  have  fled  ? 
TELL.  You'll  find  her  father  with  her,  and  some  more, 

Who  took  the  oath  with  you  upon  the  Rootli ; 

Bid  them  be  resolute,  and  strong  of  heart, — 

For  Tell  is  free  and  master  of  his  arm  ; 

They  shall  hear  further  .r>ews  of  me  ere  long. 
FISHER.  What  have  you,  then,  in  view  ?     Come,  tell  me 

frankly ! 
TELL.       When  once  'tis  done  'twill  be  in  every  mouth. 

[Exit. 
FISHER.   Show  him  the  way,  boy.    Heaven  be  his  support ! 

Whate'er  he  has  resolved,  he'll  execute. 

[Exit. 


WILHELM    TELL.  83 

SCENE  II. 

Baronial  mansion  of  Attinghausen.  The  BARON  upon  a  couch 
dying.  WALTER  FURST,  STAUFFACHER,  MELCHTIIAL,  and 
BAUMGARTEN  attending  round  him.  WALTER  TELL  kneeling 
before  the  dying  man. 

FURST.    All  now  is  ovrer  with  him.     He  is  gone. 
STAUFF.  He  lies  not  like  one  dead.     The  feather,  see, 

Moves  on  his  lips  !     His  sleep  is  very  calm, 

And  on  his  features  plays  a  placid  smile. 

[BAUMGARTEN  goes  to  the  door  and  speaks 

tenth  some  one. 
FURST.     Who's  there  ? 
BAUGMARTEX  (returning}. 

Tell's  wife,  your  daughter;  she  insists 

That  she  must  speak  with  you,  and  see  her  boy. 

[WALTER  TELL  rises. 
FURST.     I  who  need  comfort  —  can  I  comfort  her? 

Does  every  sorrow  centre  on  my  head  ? 
HEDWIG  (forcing  her  way  i>i). 

Where  is  my  child  ?     Unhand  me  !     I  must  see 

him. 

STAUFF.  Be  calm  !     Reflect  you're  in  the  house  of  death  ! 
HEDWIG  (falling  upon  her  boy's  neck). 

My  Walter !   Oh,  he  yet  is  mine  ! 

WALTER.  Dear  mother ! 

HEDW.     And  is  it  surely  so  ?    Art  thou  unhurt  ? 

[  Gazing  at  him  with  anxious  tenderness. 

And  is  it  possible  he  aimed  at  thee  ? 

How  could  he  do  it  ?     Oh,  he  has  no  heart  — 

And  he  could  wing  an  arrow  at  his  child! 
FURST.     His  soul  was  racked  with  anguish  when  he  did  it 

No  choice  was  left  him,  but  to  shoot  or  die! 
HEDW.     Oh,  if  he  had  a  father's  heart,  he  would 

Have  sooner  perished  by  a  thousand  deaths ! 
STAUFF.  You  should  be  grateful  for  God's  gracious  care, 

That  ordered  tilings  so  well. 
HEDWIG.  Can  I  forget 

What   might   have   been    the    issue.      God   of 
heaven  ! 

Were  I  to  live  for  centuries,  I  still 


84  WILHELM    TELL. 

Should  see  my  boy  tied  up,  —  his  father's  mark,— 
And  still  the  shaft  would  quiver  in  my  heart ! 

MELCH.   You  know  not  how  the  viceroy  taunted  him  ! 

HEDW.     Oh,  ruthless  heart  of  man  !     Offend  his  pride, 
And  reason  in  his  breast  forsakes  her  seat ; 
In  his  blind  wrath  he'll  stake  upon  a  cast 
A  child's  existence,  and  a  mother's  heart ! 

BAUM.     Is  then  your  husband's  fate  not  hard  enough, 
That  you  embitter  it  by  such  reproaches? 
Have  you  no  feeling  for  his  sufferings  ? 

HEDWIG  (turning  to  him  and  gazing f  nil  upon  him). 

Hast  thou  tears  only  for  thy  friend's  distress  ? 
Say,  where  were  you  when  he  —  my  noble  Tell, 
Was  bound  in  chains  ?     Where  was  your  friend- 
ship, then  ? 

The  shameful  wrong  was  done  before  your  eyes  ; 
Patient  you  stood,  and  let  your  friend  be  dragged, 
Ay,  from  your  very  hands.     Did  ever  Tell 
Act  thus  to  you  ?    Did  he  stand  whining  by 
When   on  your  heels   the    viceroy's  horsemen 

pressed, 

And  full  before  you  roared  the  storm-tossed  lake? 
Oh,  not  with  idle  tears  he  showed  his  pity  ; 
Into  the  boat  he  sprung,  forgot  his  home, 
His  wife,  his  children,  and  delivered  thee ! 

FURST.    It  had  been  madness  to  attempt  his  rescue, 
Unarmed,  and  few  in  numbers  as  we  were. 

HEDWIG  (casting  herself  upon  his  bosom). 

Oh,  father,  and  thou,  too,  hast  lost  my  Tell ! 
The  country  —  all  have  lost  him  !     All  lament 
His  loss  ;  and,  oh,  how  he  must  pine  for  us ! 
Heaven  keep  his  soul  from  sinking  to  despair  ! 
No  friend's  consoling  voice  can  penetrate 
His  dreary  dungeon  walls.     Should  he  fall  sick; 
Ah  !    In  the  vapors  of  the  murky  vault 
He  must  fall  sick.    Even  as  the  Alpine  rose 
Grows  pale  and  withers  in  the  swampy  air, 
There  is  no  life  for  him,  but  in  the  sun, 
And  in  the  balm  of  heaven's  refreshing  breeze. 
Imprisoned  ?     Liberty  to  him  is  breath  ; 
He  cannot  live  in  the  rank  dungeon  air ! 


WILHELM   TELL.  85 

STAUFF.  Pray  you  be  calm  !    And,  hand  in  hand,  we'll  all 

Combine  to  burst  his  prison  doors. 
HEDWIG.  Without  him, 

What  have  you  power  to  do  ?      While  Tell  was 
free, 

There  still,  indeed,  was  hope —  weak  innocence 

Had  still  a  friend,  and  the  oppressed  a  stay. 

Tell  saved  you  all !     You  cannot  all  combined 

Release  him  from  his  cruel  prison  bonds. 

[The  BARON  wakes. 
BAUM.     Hush,  hush !  He  starts  ! 
ATTINGHAUSEN  (sitting up).     Where  is  he? 
STAUFF  ACHER.  Who  ? 

ATTINGHAUSEN.  He  leaves  me,  — 

In  my  last  moments  he  abandons  me. 
STAUFF.  He   means   his   nephew.      Have   thev  sent   for 

him? 

FURST.    He  has  been  summoned.     Cheerily,   sir !     Take 
comfort ! 

He  has  found  his  heart  at  last,  and  is  our  own. 
ATTING.  Say,  has  he  spoken  for  his  native  land  ? 
STAUFF.  Ay,  like  a  hero ! 
ATTINGHAUSEN.  Wherefore  comes  he  not, 

That  he  may  take  my  blessing  ere  I  die  ? 

I  feel  my  life  fast  ebbing  to  a  close. 
STAUFF.  Nay,  talk  not  thus,  dear  sir  !  This  last  short  sleep 

Has  much  refreshed  you,  and  your  eye  is  bright. 
ATTING.  Life  is  but  pain,  and  even  that  has  left  me  ; 

My  sufferings,  like  my  hopes,  have  passed  away. 

[  Observing  the  boy. 

What  boy  is  that  ? 
FURST.  Bless  him.    Oh,  good  my  lord  ! 

He  is  my  grandson,  and  is  fatherless. 

[HEDWIG  kneels  with  the  boy  before  the 

dying  man. 
ATTING.  And  fatherless  —  I  leave  you  all,  ay,  all ! 

Oh,  wretched  fate,  that  these  old  eyes  should 
see 

My  country's  ruin,  as  they  close  in  death. 

Must  I  attain  the  utmost  verge  of  life, 

To  feel  my  hopes  go  with  me  to  the  grave. 


86  WILHELM   TELL. 

STAUFFACHKR  (to  FURST). 

Shall  he  depart  'mid  grief  and  gloom  like  this? 
Shall  not  his  parting  moments  be  illumed 
By  hope's  delightful  beams  ?     My  noble  lord, 
Raise  up  your  drooping  spirit !     We  are  not 
Forsaken  quite  —  past  all  deliverance. 

ATTING.  Who  shall  deliver  you  ? 

FURST.  Ourselves.    For  know 

The  Cantons  three  are  to  each  other  pledged 
To  hunt  the  tyrants  from  the  land.     The  league 
Has  been  concluded,  and  a  sacred  oath 
Confirms  our  union.     Ere  another  year 
Begins  its  circling  course  —  the  blow  shall  fall. 
In  a  free  land  your  ashes  shall  repose. 

ATTING.  The  league  concluded  !     Is  it  really  so? 

MELCH.  On  one  day  shall  the  Cantons  rise  together. 
All  is  prepared  to  strike  —  and  to  this  hour 
The  secret  closely  kept  though  hundreds  share 

it; 

The  ground  is  hollow  'neath  the  tyrant's  feet ; 
Their  days  of  rule  are  numbered,  and  ere  long- 
No  trace  of  their  dominion  shall  remain. 

ATTING.  Ay,  but  their  castles,  how  to  master  them  ? 

MELCH.    On  the  same  day  they,  too,  are  doomed  to  fall. 

ATTING.  And  are  the  nobles  parties  to  this  league  ? 

STAUFF.  We  trust  to  their  assistance   should  we   need 

it; 
As  yet  the  peasantry  alone  have  sworn. 

ATTING.  (raising  himself  up  in  great  astonishment). 
And  have  the  peasantry  dared  such  a  deed 
On  their  own  charge  without  their  nobles'  aid  — 
Relied  so  much  on  their  own  proper  strength  ? 
Nay  then,  indeed,  they  want  our  help  no  more; 
We   may   go   down   to   death   cheered  by  the 

thought 

That  after  us  the  majesty  of  man 
Will  live,  and  be  maintained  by  other  hands. 
\_IIe  lays  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  the  child, 

who  is  kneeling  before  him. 
From  this  boy's  head,  whereon  the  apple  lay, 
Your  new  and  better  liberty  shall  spring ; 


WILHELM   TELL.  87 

The   old   is   crumbling  down  —  the  times   are 

changing  — 
And  from  the  ruins  blooms  a  fairer  life. 

STAUFFy  DHER  (to  FURST). 

See,  see,  what  splendor  streams  around  his  eye  ! 
This  is  not  nature's  last  expiring  flame, 
It  is  the  beam  of  renovated  life. 

ATXINTO    From  their  old  towers  the  nobles  are  descending, 
And  swearing  in  the  towns  the  civic  oath. 
In  Uechtland  and  Thurgau  the  work's  begun  ; 
The  noble  Bern  lifts  her  commanding  head, 
And  Freyburg  is  a  stronghold  of  the  free; 
The  stirring  Zurich  calls  her  guilds  to  arms  ; 
And  now,  behold  !  the  ancient  might  of  kings 
Is  shivered  against  her  everlasting  walls. 

\_IIe  speaks  what  follows  with  a  prophetic 
tone;  his  utterance  rising  into  enthu- 
siasm. 

I  see  the  princes  and  their  haughty  peers, 
Clad  all  in  steel,  come  striding  on  to  crush 
A  harmless  shepherd  race  with  mailed  hand. 
Desperate  the  conflict :  'tis  for  life  or  death  ; 
And  many  a  pass  will  tell  to  after  years 
Of  glorious  victories  sealed  in  foemen's  blood.* 
The  peasant  throws  himself  with  naked  breast, 
A  willing  victim  on  their  serried  lances. 
They  yield  — the  flower  of  chivalry's  cut  down, 
And    freedom    waves   her   conquering    banner 

high! 

[Gfrasps  the  hands  of  WALTER   FURST 

and  STAUFFACHER. 

Hold  fast  together,  then  —  forever  fast ! 
Let   freedom's    haunts   be   one   in    heart    and 

mind  ! 
Set  watches  on  your  mountain-tops,  that  league 

*  An  allusion  to  the  gallant  self-devotion  of  Arnold  Struthan  of  Winkel- 
ried,  at  the  battle  of  Sempach  (9th  July,  1386),  who  broke  the  Austrian 
phalanx  by  rushing  on  their  lances,  grasping  as  many  of  them  as  he  could 
reach,  and  concentrating  them  upon  his  breast.  The  confederates  rushed 
forward  through  the  gap  thus  opened  by  tlie  sacrifice  of  their  comrade,  broke 
and  cut  down  their  enemy's  ranks,  and  soon  became  the  masters  of  the  field. 
"  Dear  and  faithful  confederates.  1  will  open  you  a  passage.  Protect  my 
wife  and  children,"  were  the  words  of  Winkelried  as  he  rushed  to  death. 


88  WILHELM    TELL. 

May  answer  league,  when  comes  the  hour  to 
strike. 

I3e  one  —  be  one  —  be  one 

\_lle  falls  b((ck  upon  the  cushion.  His  life- 
less hands  continue  to  grasp  those  of 
FUKST  and  STAUFFATHER,  who  regar<( 
him  for  some  moments  in  silence,  ami 
then  retire,  overcome  with  sorrow.  Mean- 
while the  servants  have  quietly  pressed 
into  the  chamber,  testifying  different 
degrees  of  grief .  Xome  kneel  down  beside 
him  and  weep  on  his  body  :  while  this 
scene  is  passing  the  castle  bell  tolls. 
RUDENZ  (entering  hurriedly] . 

Lives  lie?     Oh,  say,  can  he  still  hear  my  voice? 
FURST  (averting  his  face). 

You  are  our  seignior  and  protector  now  ; 
Henceforth  this  castle  bears  another  name. 
RUDENZ  (gazing  at  the  body  witlt  deep  emotion). 

Oh,  God  !     Is  my  repentance,  then,  too  late  ? 
Could  lie  not  live  some  few  brief  moments  more. 
To  see  the  change  that  has  come  o'er  my  heart  ''. 
Oh,  I  was  deaf  to  his  true  counselling  voice 
While  yet  he  walked  on  earth.    Now  he  is  gone  ; 
Gone  and  forever,  —  leaving  me  the  debt, — 
The  heavy  debt  I  owe  him  —  undischarged  ! 
Oh,  tell  me!  did  he  part  in  anger  with  me? 
STAUFF.  When  dying  he  was  told  what  you  had  done, 

And  blessed  the  valor  that  inspired  your  words! 
RUDENZ  (kneeling  down  beside  the  dead  body}. 
Yes,  sacred  relics  of  a  man  beloved  ! 
Thou  lifeless  corpse!     Here,  on  thy  death-cold 

hand, 

Do  I  abjure  all  foreign  ties  forever  ! 
And  to  my  country's  cause  devote  myself. 
I  am  a'Switzer,  and  will  act  as  one 
With  my  whole  heart  and  soul.  [Rises. 

Mourn  for  our  friend, 

Our  common  parent,  yet  be  not  dismayed! 
'Tis  not  alone  his  lands  that  I  inherit,  — 
His  heart  —  his  spirit  have  devolved  on  me; 


WILHELM    TELL. 

And  my  young  arm  shall  execute  the  task 

For  which  his  hoary  age  remained  your  debtor. 

Give  me  your  hands,  ye  venerable  fathers  ! 

Thine,  Melchthal,  too !     Nay,  do  not  hesitate, 

Nor  from  me  turn  distrustfully  away. 

Accept  my  plighted  vow  —  my  knightly  oath  ! 
FTJRST.    Give  him  your  hands,  my  friends !    A  heart  like 
his 

That  sees  and  owns  its  error  claims  our  trust. 
MELCH.    You  ever  held  the  peasantry  in  scorn ; 

What  surety  have  we  that  you  mean  us  fair? 
Run.        Oh,  think  not  of  the  error  of  my  youth ! 
STAUFFACHEB  (to  MELCHTHAL). 

Be  one  !     They  were  our  father's  latest  words. 

See  they  be  not  forgotten ! 
MELCH.  Take  my  hand,  — 

A  peasant's  hand",  —  and  with  it,  noble  sir, 

The  gage  and  the  assurance  of  a  man  ! 

Without  us,  sir,  what  would  the  nobles  be? 

Our  order  is  more  ancient,  too,  than  yours ! 
HUD.        I  honor  it,  and  with  my  sword  will  shield  it ! 
MELCH.    The  arm,  my  lord,  that  tames  the  stubborn  earth, 

And  makes  its  bosom  blossom  with  increase, 

Can  also  shield  a  man's  defenceless  breast. 
HUD         Then   you   shall   shield    my  breast  and   I    will 
yours ; 

Thus  each  be  strengthened  by  the  others'  aid! 

Yet  wherefore  talk  we  while  our  native  land 

Is  still  to  alien  tyranny  a  prey  ? 

First  let  us  sweep  the  foeman  from  the  soil, 

Then  reconcile  our  difference  in  peace  ! 

\_After  a  momenfs  pause. 

How  !     You  are  silent  !     Not  a  word  for  me  ? 

And  have  I  yet  no  title  to  your  trust? 

Then  must  I  force  my  way,  despite  your  will, 

Into  the  league  you  secretly  l.ave  formed. 

You've  held  a  Diet  on  the  Rootli,  —  I 

Know   this,  —  know   all    that   was    transacted 
there ! 

And  though  I  was  not  trusted  with  your  secret, 

I  still  have  kept  it  like  a  sacred  pledge. 


90  WILHELM    TELL. 

Trust  me,  I  never  was  my  country's  foe, 

Nor  would  I  ever  have  ranged  myself  against 
you!  • 

Yet  you  did  wrong  to  put  your  rising  off. 

Time  presses !     We  must  strike,  and  swiftly, 
too! 

Already  Tell  has  fallen  a  sacrifice 

To  your  delay. 

STAUFF.  We  swore  to  wait  till  Christmas. 

KUD.        I  was  not  there,  —  I  did  not  take  the  oath. 

If  you  delay  I  will  not ! 

MELCHTHAL.  What !  You  would 

RUD.        I  count  me  now  among  the  country's  fathers, 

And  to  protect  you  is  my  foremost  duty. 
FURST.    Within  the  earth  to  lay  these  dear  remains, 

That  is  your  nearest  and  most  sacred  duty. 
RUD.        When  we  have  set  the  country  free,  we'll  place 

Our  fresh,  victorious  wreaths  upon  his  bier. 

Oh,  my  dear  friends,  'tis  not  your  cause  alone ! 

I  have  a  cause  to  battle  with  the  tyrants 

That   more   concerns   myself.     Know,  that  my 
Bertha 

Has  disappeared,  —  been  carried  off  by  stealth, 

Stolen  from  amongst  us  by  their  ruffian  hands! 
STAUFF.  And  has  the  tyrant  dared  so  fell  an  outrage 

Against  a  lady  free  and  nobly  born  ? 
RUD.        Alas!  my  friends,  I  promised  help  to  you, 

And  I  must  first  implore  it  for  myself? 

She  that  I  love  is  stolen  —  is  forced  away, 

And  who  knows  where  the  tyrant  has  concealed 
her. 

Or  with  what  outrages  his  ruffian  crew 

May  force  her  into  nuptials  she  detests? 

Forsake  me  not!     Oh  help  me  to  her  rescue  ! 

She  loves  you  !     Well,  oh  well,  has  she  deserved 

That  all  should  rush  to  arms  in  her  behalf. 
STAUFF.  What  course  do  you  propose? 
RUDENZ.  Alas  !  I  know  not. 

In  the  dark  mystery  that  shrouds  her  fate, 

In  the  dread  agony  of  this  suspense, 

Where  I  can  grasp  at  naught  of  certainty, 


W1LHELM    TELL.  91 

One  single  ray  of  comfort  beams  upon  me. 
From  out  the  ruins  of  the  tyrant's  power 
Alone  can  she  be  rescued  from  the  grave. 
Their  strongholds  must  be  levelled  !     Every  one, 
Ere  we  can  pierce  into  her  gloomy  prison. 

MELCH.    Come,  lead  us  on  !     We  follow!     Why  defer 
Until  to-morrow  what  to-day  may  do? 
Tell's  arm  was  free  when  we  at  Rootli  swore, 
This  foul  enormity  was  yet  undone. 
And  change  of  circumstance  brings  change  of  law. 
Who  such  a  coward  as  to  waver  still  ? 

RUDENZ  (to  WALTER  FUKST). 

Meanwhile  to  arms,  and  wait  in  readiness 
The  fiery  signal  on  the  mountain-tops. 
For  swifter  than  a  boat  can  scour  the  lake 
Shall  you  have  tidings  of  our  victory; 
And  when  you  see  the  welcome  flames  ascend, 
Then,  like  the  lightning,  swoop  upon  the  foe, 
And  lay  the  despots  and  their  creatures  low ! 

SCENE  III. 

The  pass  near  Kiissnacht,  sloping  d<,icn  from  behind,  with  rocks 
on  either  aide.  The  traveller*  ore  viaiole  upon  the  heights,  before 
they  appear  on  the  stage.  Hocks  all  round  the  stage.  Upon 
one  of  the  foremost  a  projecting  cliff  overgrown  with  brushwood. 

TELL  (enters  icit/t  his  crossbow). 

Here  through  this  deep  defile  he  needs  must  pass ; 
There  leads  no  other  road  to  Ktissnacht ;  here 
I'll  do  it ;  the  opportunity  is  good. 
Yon  alder  tree  stands  well  for  my  concealment, 
Thence  my  avenging  shaft  will  surely  reach  him. 
The  straitness  of  the  path  forbids  pursuit. 
No w,Gessler,  balance  thine  account  with  Heaven! 
Thou  must  away  from  earth,  thy  sand  is  run. 

I  led  a  peaceful,  inoffensive  life ; 

My  bow  was  bent  on  forest  game  alone, 

And   my  pure  soul  was  free  from  thoughts  of 

murder. 

But  thou  hast  scared  me  from  my  dream  of  peace ; 
The  milk  of  human  kindness  thou  hast  turned 


92  WILHELM    TELL. 

To  rankling  poison  in  my  breast,  and  made 
Appalling  deeds  familiar  to  my  soul. 
He  who  could  make  his  own  child's  head  his  mark 
Can  speed  his  arrow  to  his  foeman's  heart. 

My  children  dear,  my  loved  and  faithful  wife, 
Must  be  protected,  tyrant,  from  thy  fury  ! 
When  last  I  drew  my  bow,  with  trembling  hand, 
And  thou,  with  murderous  joy,  a  father  forced 
To  level  at  his  child;  when,  all  in  vain, 
Writhing  before  thee,  I  implored  thy  mercy, 
Then  in  the  agony  of  my  soul  I  vowed 
A  fearful  oath,  which  met  God's  ear  alone, 
That  when  my  bow  next  winged  an  arrow's  flight 
Its  aim  should  be  thy  heart.     The  vow  I  made 
Amid  the  hellish  torments  of  that  moment 
I  hold  a  sacred  debt,  and  I  will  pay  it. 

Thou  art  my  lord,  my  emperor's  delegate, 

Yet  would  the  emperor  not  have  stretched  his 

power 

So  far  as  thou.     He  sent  thee  to  these  Cantons 
To  deal  forth  law,  stern  law,  for  he  is  angered ; 
But  not  to  wanton  with  unbridled  wi-11 
In  every  cruelty,  with  fiendlike  joy  : 
There  is  a  God  to  punish  and  avenge. 

Come  forth,  thou  bringer  once  of  bitter  pangs, 
My  precious  jewel  now,  my  chiefest  treasure ; 
A  mark  I'll  set  thee,  which  the  cry  of  grief 
Could  never  penetrate,  but  thou  shalt  pierce  it. 
And  thou,  my  trusty  bowstring,  that  so  oft 
Has  served  me  faithfully  in  sportive  scenes,   • 
Desert  me  not  in  this  most  serious  hour  — 
Only  be  true  this  once,  my  own  good  cord, 
That  has  so  often  winged  the  biting  shaft  :  — 
For  shouldst  thou  fly  successless  from  my  hand, 
I  have  no  second  to  send  after  thee. 

[  Travellers  pass  over  the  stave. 
I'll  sit  me  down  upon  this  bench  of  stone, 
Hewn  for  the  wayworn  traveller's  brief  repose  — 
For  here  there  is  no  home.     Each  hurries  by 


WILHELM    TELL.  93 

The  other,  with  quick  step  and  careless  look, 
Nor  stays  to  question  of  his  grief.     Here  goes 
The  merchant,  full  of  care  —  the  pilgrim  next, 
With  slender  scrip  —  and  then  the  pious  monk, 
The  scowling  robber,  and  the  jovial  player, 
The  carrier  with  his  heavy-laden  horse, 
That  comes  to  us  from  the  far  haunts  of  men  ; 
For  every  road  conducts  to  the  world's  end. 
They  all  push  onwards  —  every  man  intent 
On  his  own  several  business  —  mine  is  murder. 

[Sits  down. 

Time,  was,  my  dearest  children,  when  with  joy 
You  hailed  your  father's  safe  return  to  home 
From  his  long  mountain  toils;  for  when  he  came 
He  ever  brought  some  little  present  with  him. 
A  lovely  Alpine  flower  —  a  curious  bird  — 
Or  elf-boat  found  by  wanderers  on  the  hills. 
But  now  he  goes  in  quest  of  other  game  : 
In  the  wild  pass  he  sits,  and  broods  on  murder ; 
And  watches  for  the  life-blood  of  his  foe, 
But  still  his  thoughts  are  fixed  on  you  alone, 
Dear  children.     'Tis  to  guard  your  innocence, 
To  shield  you  from  the  tyrant's  fell  revenge, 
He  bends  his  bow  to  do  a  deed  of  blood  ! 

\_Rises. 

Well  —  I  am  watching  for  a  noble  prey  — 
Does  not  the  huntsman,  with  severest  toil, 
Roam  for  whole  days  amid  the  winter's  cold, 
Leap  with  a  daring  bound  from  rock  to  rock,  — 
And  climb  the  jagged,  slippery  steeps,  to  which 
His  limbs  are  glued  by  his  own  streaming  blood  ; 
And  all  this  but  to  gain  a  wretched  chamois. 
A  far  more  precious  prize  is  now  my  aim  — 
The  heart  of  that  dire  foe  who  would  destroy  me. 
[Sprightly  music   heard  in    the  distance, 

which  comes  gradually  nearer. 
From  my  first  years  of  boyhood  I  have  used 
The  bow  —  been  practised  in  the  archer's  feats1, 
The  bull's-eye  many  a  time  my  shafts  have  hit, 
And  many  a  goodly  prize  have  I  brought  home. 
Won  in  the  games  of  skill.     This  day  I'll  make 


94 


WILHELM    TELL. 


My  master-shot,  and  win  the  highest  prize 
Within  the  whole  circumference  of  the  mountains. 
[VI  marriage  train  passes  over  the  stage, 
and  goes  up  the  pass.     TELL  gazes  at 
it,  leaning  on  his   bow.     He  is  joined 
by  STUSSI,  the  Hanger. 

STUSSI.    There  goes  the  bridal  party  of  the  steward 
Of  Morlischachen's  cloister.     He  is  rich  ! 
And  has  some  ten  good  pastures  on  the  Alps. 
He  goes  to  fetch  his  bride  from  Imisee, 
There  will  be  revelry  to-night  at  Ktissnacht. 
Come  with  us  —  every  honest  man's  invited. 

TELL.       A  gloomy  guest  fits  not  a  wedding  feast. 

STUSSI.    If  grief  oppress  you,  dash  it  from  your  heart ! 
Bear  with  your  lot.     The  times  are  heavy  now, 
And  we  must  snatch  at  pleasure  while  we  can. 
Here  'tis  a  bridal,  there  a  burial. 

TELL.       And  oft  the  one  treads  close  upon  the  other. 

STUSSI.    So  runs  the  world  at  present.     Everywhere 
We  meet  with  woe  and  misery  enough. 
There's  been  a  slide  of  earth  in  Glarus,  and 
A  whole  side  of  the  Glarniseh  has  fallen  in. 

TELL.       Strange  !    And  do  even  the  hills  begin  to  totter? 
There  is  stability  for  naught  on  earth. 

STUSSI.    Strange  tidings,  too,  we  hear  from  other  parts. 
I  spoke  with  one  but  now,  that  came  from  Baden, 
Who  said  a  knight  was  on  his  way  to  court, 
And  as  he  rode  along  a  swarm  of  wasps 
Surrounded  him,  and  settling  on  his  horse, 
So  fiercely  stung  the  beast  that  it  fell  dead, 
And  he  proceeded  to  the  court  on  foot. 

TELL.       Even  the  weak  are  furnished  with  a  sting. 

ARMGART  {enters  with  several  children,  and  places  her- 
self at  the  entrance  of  the  pass). 

STUSSI.    'Tis  thought  to  bode  disaster  to  the  country,— 
Some  horrid  deed  against  the  course  of  nature. 

TELL.       Why,  every  day  brings  forth  such  fearful  deeds  ; 
There  needs  no  miracle  to  tell  their  coming. 

STUSSI.    Too  true!      He's  blessed  who  tills  his  field  in 

peace, 
And  sits  untroubled  by  his  own  fireside. 


WILHELM    TELL.  95 

TELL.       The  very  meekest  cannot  rest  in  quiet, 

Unless  it  suits  with  his  ill  neighbor's  humor. 
[TELL  looks  frequently  with  restless  expecta- 
tion towards  the  top  of  the  pass. 
STUSSI.    So  fare  you  well !     You're   waiting  some  one 

here  ? 

TELL.       I  am. 

STUSSI.  A  pleasant  meeting  with  your  friends  ! 

You  are  from  Uri,  are  you  not  ?     His  grace 
The  governor's  expected  thence  to-day. 
TRAVELLER  (entering). 

Look  not  to  see  the  governor  to-day. 

The  streams  are  flooded  by  the  heavy  rains, 

And  all  the  bridges  have  been  swept  away. 

[TELL  rises. 
ARMGART  (coming  forward}. 

The  viceroy  not  arrived  ? 

STUSSI.  And  do  you  seek  him  ? 

ARM.       Alas,  I  do  ! 
STUSSI.  But  why  thus  place  yourself 

Where  you  obstruct  his  passage  down  the  pass? 
ARM.        Here  he  cannot  escape  me.     He  must  hear  me. 
FRIESS.  (coming  hastily   down  the  pass,  and  calls  upon 

the  stage). 

Make  way,  make,  way  !     My  lord,  the  governor, 
Is  coming  down  on  horseback  close  behind  me. 

\Exit  TELL. 

ARMGART  (with  animation). 
The  viceroy  comes! 

[She  goes  towards  the  pass  with  her  children. 
GESSLER  and  RUDOLPH  DER  HARRAS  ap- 
pear upon  the  heights  on  horseback. 
STUSSI    (to   FRIESSHARDT).     How  got  ye  through  the 

stream 

When  all  the  bridges  have  been  carried  down  ? 
FRIESS.    We've  battled  with  the  billows  ;  and,  my  friend, 

An  Alpine  torrent's  nothing  after  that. 
STUSSI.    How!     Were   you    out,  then,  in  that  dreadful 

storm  ? 

FRIESS.   Ay,  that  we  were  !     I  shall  not  soon  forget  it. 
STUSSI.    Stay,  speak 


WILHELM   TELL. 


FRISSS. 


I  cannot.     I  must  to  the  castle, 
And  tell  them  that  the  governor's  at  hand. 

[Exit. 

STUSSI.    If  honest  men,  now,  had  been  in  the  ship, 

It  had  gone  down  with  every  soul  on  board  :  - 

Some   folks   are   proof  'gainst   fire    and    water 

both.  [Looking  round. 

Where  has  the  huntsman  gone  with   whom   1 

spoke?  L^xit- 

Enter  GESSLER  and  RUDOLPH  DER  HARRAS  on  horseback. 

GESSL.     Say   what    you   please;    I   am    the    emperor's 

servant, 

And  my  first  care  must  be  to  do  his  pleasure. 
He  did  not  send  me  here  to  fawn  and  cringe 
And  coax  these  boors  into  good  humor.     No  ! 
Obedience  he  must  have.     We  soon  shall  see 
If  king  or  peasant  is  to  lord  it  here  ? 

ARM.        Now  is  the  moment !     Now  for  my  petition  ! 

GESSL.     'Twas  not  in  sport  that  I  set  up  the  cap 

In  Altdorf  —  or  to  try  the  people's  hearts  — 

All  this  I  knew  before.     I  set  it  up 

That  they  might  learn  to  bend  those  stubborn 

necks 

They  carry  far  too  proudly  —  and  I  placed 
What  well  I  knew  their  eyes  could  never  brook 
Full   in   the   road,   which   they   perforce    must 

pass, 

That,  when  their  eyes  fell  oft  it,  they  might  call 
That  lord  to  mind  whom  they  too  much  forget. 

HAR.        But  surely,  sir,  the  people  have  some  rights  — 

GESSL.     This  is  no  time  to  settle  what  they  are. 

Great  projects  are  at  work,  and  hatching  now  ; 
The  imperial  house  seeks  to  extend  its  power. 
Those  vast  designs  of  conquests,  which  the  sire 
Has  gloriously  begun,  the  son  will  end. 
This  petty  nation  is  a  stumbling-block  — 
One  way  or  other  it  must  be  subjected. 

[  They  are  about  to  pass  on.      ARMGART 
throws  herself  down  before  GESSLER. 

ARM.        Mercy,  lord  governor !     Oh,  pardon,  pardon  ! 


WILHELM    TELL.  97 

GESSL.     Why  do  you  cross  me  on  the  public  road  ? 

-    Stand  back,  I  say. 

ARMGART.  My  husband  lies  in  prison  ; 

My  wretched    orphans   cry    for   bread.      Have 


Pity,  ray  lord,  upon  our  sore  distress  ! 

HAR.        Who  are  you,  woman  ;  and  who  is  your  husband? 

ARM.        A  poor  wilcl-hay-man  of  the  Rigiberg, 

Kind  sir,  who  on  the  brow  of  the  abyss, 
Mows  down    the  grass  from  steep  and  craggy 

shelves, 
To  which  the  very  cattle  dare  not  climb. 

HARRAS  (to  GESSLER). 

By  Heaven  !   a  sad  and  miserable  life  ! 

I  prithee,  give  the  wretched  man  his  freedom. 

How  great  soever  his  offence  may  be, 

His  horrid  trade  is  punishment  enough. 

[To  ARMGART. 

You  shall  have  justice.     To  the  castle  bring 
Your  suit.     This  is  no  place  to  deal  with  it. 

ARM.        No,  no,  I  will  not  stir  from  where  I  stand, 
Until  your  grace  restore  my  husband  to  me. 
Six  months  already  has  he  been  in  prison, 
And  waits  the  sentence  of  a  judge  in  vain. 

GESSL.     How  !  would    you  force  me,  woman  ?     Hence  ! 
Begone  ! 

ARM.        Justice,  my  lord  !     Ay,  justice  !    Thou  art  judge  ! 
The  deputy  of  the  emperor  —  of  Heaven  ! 
Then  do  thy  duty,  as  thou  hopest  for  justice 
From  Him  who  rules  above,  show  it  to  us  ! 

GESSL.     Hence!     drive    this     daring    rabble    from    my 
sight  ! 

ARMGART  (seizing  his  horse's  reins). 

No,  no,  by  Heaven,  I've  nothing  more  to  lose. 
Thou  stirrest  not,  viceroy,  from  this  spot  until 
Thou  dost  me  fullest  justice.     Knit  thy  brows, 
And  roll  thy  eyes  ;  I  fear  not.     Our  distress 
Is  so  extreme,  so  boundless,  that  we  care 
No  longer  for  thine  anger. 

GESSLER.  Woman,  hence! 

Give  way,  I  say,  or  I  will  ride  thee  down.  . 


98  WILHELM    TELL. 

ARM.        Well,  do  so;  there  ! 

[Throws  her  children  and  herself  upon  the 
ground  before  him. 

Here  on  the  ground  I  Hi'. 

I  and  my  children.     Let  the  wretched  orphans 
Be  trodden  by  thy  horse  into  the  dust! 
It  will  not  be  the  worst  that  thou  hast  done 
HAR.        Are  you  mad,  woman  ? 
ARMGART  (continuing  with  vehemence). 

Many  a  day  thou  hast 

Trampled  the  emperor's  lands  beneath  thy  feet. 
Oh,  I  am  but  a  woman  !     Were  I  man, 
I'd  find  some  better  thing  to  do,  than  here 
Lie  grovelling  in  the  dust. 

[The  music  of  the  wedding  party  is  again 
heard  from  the  top  of  the  pass,  but  more 
softly. 

GESSLER.  Where  are  my  knaves  ? 

Drag  her  away,  lest  I  forget  myself, 
And  do  some  deed  I  may  repent  hereafter. 
HAR.        My  lord,  the  servants  cannot  force  a  passage ; 

The  pass  is  blocked  up  by  a  marriage  party. 
GESSL.     Too  mild  a  ruler  am  I  to  this  people, 

Their  tongues  are  all  too  bold  ;  nor  have  they  yet 
Been  tamed  to  due  submission,  as  they  shall  be. 
I  must  take  order  for  the  remedy ; 
I  will  subdue  this  stubborn  mood  of  theirs, 
And  crush  the  soul  of  liberty  within  them. 
I'll  publish  a  new  law  throughout  the  land  ; 
I  will  — 

[An  arrow  pierces  him,  —  he  puts  his  hand  on 
his  heart,  and  is  about  to  sink  —  with  a 
feeble  voice. 

Oh  God,  have  mercy  on  my  soul ! 
HAR.        My  lord!    my  lord!     Oh  God!     What's  this? 

Whence  came  it? 
ARMGART  (starts  up). 

Dead,  dead  !     He  reels,  he  falls !     'Tis  in  his 

heart ! 
H ARRAS  (springs  from  his  horse). 

This  is  most  horrible!    Oh  Heavens!  sir  knight, 


WILHELM    TELL.  99 

Address  yourself  to  God  and  pray  for  mercy ; 
You  are  a  dying  man. 
GESSLER.  That  shot  was  Tell's. 

\_He  slides  from  his  horse  into  the  arms  of 
RUDOLPH  DER  HAKRAS,  who  lays  him  down 
upon  the  bench.  TELL  appears  above,  upon 
the  rocks. 

TELL.       Thou  knowest  the  archer,  seek  no  other  hand. 
Our  cottages  are  free,  and  innocence 
Secure  from  thee :  thou'lt  be  our  curse  no  more. 
[TELL  disappears.     People  rush  in. 

STUSSI.    What  is  the  matter  ?    Tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened ? 

ARM.        The  governor  is  shot,  —  killed  by  an  arrow! 
PEOPLE  (running  in). 

Who  has  been  shot  ? 

[  While  the  foremost  of  the  marriage  party  are 
coming  on  the  stage,  the  hindmost  are  still 
upon  the  heights.     The  music  continues. 
HARRAS.  He's  bleeding  fast  to  death. 

Away,  for  help  —  pursue  the  murderer! 
Unhappy  man,  is't  thus  that  thou  must  die? 
Thou  wouldst  not  heed  the  warnings  that  I  gave 

thee! 
STUSSI     By  heaven,  his  cheek  is  pale!     His  life  ebbs 

fast. 
MANY  VOICES. 

Who  did  the  deed  ? 

HARRAS.  What !    Are  the  people  mad 

That  they  make  music  to  a  murder?     Silence! 
[ Music  breaks  off  suddenly.     People  continue 

to  flock  in. 
Speak,  if  thou  canst,  my  lord.     Hast  thou  no 

charge 
To  intrust  me  with? 

[GESSLER  makes  signs  with  his  hand,  which  he 
repeats  with  vehemence,  when  he  finds  they 
are  not  understood. 

What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 
Shall  I  to  Kiissnacht?      I  can't    guess    your 
meaning. 


100  WILHELM    TELL. 

Do  not  give  way  to  tins  impatience.     Leave 
All  thoughts  of  earth  and  make  your  peace  with 

Heaven. 
[The  whole  marriage  party  gather  round  tJie 

dying  man. 

STUSSI.    See  there!  how  pale  he  grows  !     Death's  gather- 
ing now 

About  his  heart;  his  eyes  grow  dim  and  glazed. 
ARMGAKT  (holds  up  a  child}. 

Look,  children,  how  a  tyrant  dies ! 
HARRAS.  Mad  hag ! 

Have  you  no  touch  of  feeling  that  you  look 
On  horrors  such  as  these  without  a  shudder? 
Help  me — take  hold.     What,  will  not  one  assist 
To  pull  the  torturing  arrow  from  his  breast  ? 
WOMEN.  We  touch  the  man  whom  God's  own  hand  has 

struck ! 

HAR.        All  curses  light  on  you  !  [Draws  his  sword. 

STUSSI  (seizes  his  arm}.     Gently,  sir  knight ! 

Your  power  is  at  an  end.    'Twere  best  forbear. 
Our  country's  foe  is  fallen.     We  will  brook 
No  further  violence.     We  are  free  men. 
ALL.        The  country's  free  ! 

HARRAS.  And  is  it  come  to  this? 

Fear  and  obedience  at  an  end  so  soon  ? 

[  To  the  soldiers  of  the  guard  who  are  throng- 
ing in. 

You  see,  my  friends,  the  bloody  piece  of  work 
They've   acted    here.      'Tis   now   too   late   for 

help, 

And  to  pursue  the  murderer  were  vain. 
New  duties  claim  our  care.      Set  on  to  Ktiss- 

nacht, 

And  let  us  save  that  fortress  for  the  king ! 
For  in  an  hour  like  this  all  ti-s  of  order, 
Fealty,  and  faith  are  scattered  to  the  winds. 
No  man's  fidelity  is  to  be  trusted. 

\_As  he  is  going   out  with   the   soldiers  six 

FRATRES  MISERICORDI^E  appear. 

ARM.        Here  come  the  brotherhood  of  mercy.     Room  ! 
STUSSI.    The  victim's  slain,  and  now  the  ravens  stoop. 


WILIIELM    TELL.  101 

BROTHERS  OF  MERCY  (form  a  semicircle  round  the  body, 

and  sing  in  solemn  tones). 
With  hasty  step  death  presses  on, 

Nor  grants  to  man  a  moment's  stay, 
He  falls  ere  half  his  race  be  run 

In  manhood's  pride  is  swept  away ! 
Prepared  or  unprepared  to  die, 
He  stands  before  his  Judge  on  high. 

[  While  they  are  repeating  the  last  two  lines, 
the  curtain  falls. 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I. 

A  common  near  Altdorf.  In  the  background  to  the  right  the 
keep  of  Uri,  with  the  scaffold  still  standing,  as  in  the  third 
scene  of  the  first  act.  To  the  left  the  view  opens  upon  numer- 
ous mountains,  on  all  of  which  signal  fires  are  burning. 
Day  is  breaking,  and  bells  are  heard  ringing  from  various 
distances. 

RUODI,  KUONI,  WERNI,  MASTER  MASON,  and  many  other 
country  people,  also  women  and  children. 

RUODI.     Look  at  the  fiery  signals  on  the  mountains ! 
MASON.   Hark  to  the  bells  above  the  forest  there ! 
RUODI.     The  enemy's  expelled. 

MASON.  The  forts  are  taken. 

RUODI.     And  we  of  Uri,  do  we  still  endure 

Upon  our  native  soil  the  tyrant's  keep? 

Are  we  the  last  to  strike  for  liberty  ? 
MASON.    Shall  the  yoke  stand  that  was  to  bow  our  necks  ? 

Up  !     Tear  it  to  the  ground  ! 

ALL.  Down,  down  with  it ! 

RUODI.     Where  is  the  Stier  of  Uri  ? 
URI.  Here.     What  would  ye  ? 

RUODI.     Up  to  your  tower,  and  wind  us  such  a  blast, 

As  shall  resound  afar,  from  hill  to  hill ; 

Rousing  the  echoes  of  each  peak  and  glen, 

And  call  the  mountain  men  in  haste  together! 
[Exit  STIER  OF  URI — enter  WALTER  FURST. 


102 


WILHELM   TELL. 


FURST.     Stay,  stay,  ray  friends !     As  yet  we  have  not 

learned 

What  has  been  done  in  Unterwald  and  Schwytz. 
Let's  wait  till  we  receive  intelligence ! 
RUODI.     Wait,  wait  for  what  ?  The  accursed  tyrant's  dead, 

And  the  bright  day  of  liberty  has  dawned  ! 
MASOX.   How  !     Do  these  flaming  signals  not  suffice, 
That  blaze  on  every  mountain  top  around  ? 
RUODI.     Come  all,  fall  to  —  come,  men  and  women,  all ! 
Destroy  the  scaffold  !     Tear  the  arches  down  ! 
Down  with  the  walls ;  let  not  a  stone  remain. 
MASON.   Come,  comrades,  come !     We  built  it,  and  we 

know 

How  best  to  hurl  it  down. 

ALL.  Come  !     Down  with  it ! 

[  They  fall  upon  the  building  at  every  side. 
FUKST.     The  floodgate's  burst.     They're  not   to  be  re- 
strained. 

[Enter  MELCHTHAL  and  BAUMGARTEN. 
MELCH.   What!     Stands  the  fortress  still,  when  Sarnen 

lies 

In  ashes,  and  when  Rossberg  is  a  ruin  ? 
FURST.     You,  Melchthal,  here  ?    D'ye  bring  us  liberty  ? 

Say,  have  you  freed  the  country  of  the  foe  ? 
MELCH.   We've  swept  them  from  the  soil.     Rejoice,  my 

friend  ; 

Now,  at  this  very  moment,  while  we  speak, 
There's  not  a  tyrant  left  in  Switzerland  ! 
FURST.     How  did  you  get  the  forts  into  your  power? 
MELCH.   Rudenz  it  was  who  with  a  gallant  arm, 

And  manly  daring,  took  the  keep  at  Sarnen. 
The  Rossberg  I  had  stormed  the  night  before. 
But  hear  what  chanced.     Scarce  had  we  driven 

the  foe 

Forth  from  the  keep,  and  given  it  to  the  flames, 
That  now  rose  crackling  upwards  to  the  skies, 
When  from  the  blaze  rushed  Diethelm,Gessler's 

page, 

Exclaiming,  "  Lady  Bertha  will  be  burnt !  " 
FURST.     Good  heavens ! 

[  The  beams  of  the  scaffold  are  heard  falling. 


WILHELM   TELL. 


103 


MELCH.  'Twas  she  herself.     Here  had  she  been 

Immured  in  secret  by  the  viceroy's  orders. 
Kudenz  sprang  up  in  frenzy.     For  we  heard 
The  beams  and  massive  pillars  crashing  down, 
And  through  the  volumed   smoke  the  piteous 

shrieks 
Of  the  unhappy  lady. 

FURST.  Is  she  saved  ? 

.MELCH.   Here  was  a  time  for  promptness  and  decision  ! 
Had  he  been-  nothing  but  our  baron,  then 
We  should  have  been  most  chary  of  our  lives ; 
But  he  was  our  confederate,  and  Bertha 
Honored  the  people.     So  without  a  thought, 
We  risked  the  worst,  and  rushed  into  the  flames. 

FURST.     But  is  she  saved  ? 

MELCH.  She  is.     Rudenz  and  I 

Bore  her  between  us  from  the  blazing  pile, 
With  crashing  timbers  toppling  all  around. 
And  when  she  had  revived,  the  danger  past, 
And  raised  her  eyes  to  meet  the  light  of  heaven, 
The  baron  fell  upon  my  breast ;  and  then 

A  silent  vow  of  friendship  passed  between  us 

A  vow  that,  tempered  in  yon  furnace  heat, 
Will  last  through  every  shock  of  time  and  fate. 

FURST.    Where  is  the  Landenberg? 

MELCH.  Across  the  Briinig. 

No  fault  of  mine  it  was,  that  he,  who  quenched 
My  father's  eyesight,  should  go  hence  unharmed. 
He   fled  —  I   followed  —  overtook    and    seized 

him, 

And  dragged  him  to  my  father's  feet.   The  sword 
Already  quivered  o'er  the  caitiff's  head, 
When  at  the  entreaty  of  the  blind  old  man, 
1  spared  the  life  for  which  he  basely  prayed. 
He  swore  Urphede,*  never  to  return : 
He'll  keep  his  oath,  for  he  has  felt  our  arm. 

FURST.    Thank  God,  our  victory's  unstained  by  blood ! 


*  The  Urphede  was  an  oath  of  peculiar  force.  When  a  man  who  was  at 
feud  with  another,  invaded  his  lands  and  was  worsted,  he  often  made  tern  - 
with  his  enemy  by  swearing  the  Urphede,  by  which  he  bound  himself  u 
depart  and  never  to  return  with  a  hostile  intention. 


104 


WILHELM    TELL. 


RUODI. 
BAUM. 

FURST. 


CHILDREN  (running  across  the  stage  with  fragments  of 

wood). 

Liberty !   Liberty !   Hurrah,  we're  free ! 
FUBST.    Oh !  what  a  joyous  scene !    These  children  will, 
E'en  to  their  latest  day,  remember  it. 

[  Girls  bring  in.  the  cap  upon  a  pole.    The  whole 

stage  is  filled  with  people. 
Here  is  the  cap,  to  which  we  were  to  bow ! 
Command  us,  how  we  shall  dispose  of  it. 
Heavens  !    'Twas  beneath  this  cap  my  grandson 

stood ! 
SEVERAL  VOICES. 

Destroy  the  emblem  of  the  tyrant's  power ! 
Let  it  burn ! 
FURST.  No.     Rather  be  preserved  ! 

'Twas  once  the  instrument  of  despots  —  now 
'Twill  be  a  lasting  symbol  of  our  freedom. 
[Peasants,  men,  women,  and  children,  some 
standing,   others   sitting  upon    the    beams 
of  the  shattered  scaffold,  all  picturesquely 
grouped,  in  a  large  semicircle. 
MELCH.  Thus  now,  my  friends,  with  light  and  merry 

hearts, 

We  stand  upon  the  wreck  of  tyranny ; 
And  gallantly  have  we  fulfilled  the  oath, 
Which  we  at  Rootli  swore,  confederates! 
FURST.    The  work  is  but  begun.     We  must  be  firm. 
For,  be  assured,  the  king  will  make  all  speed, 
To  avenge  his  viceroy's  death,  and  reinstate, 
By  force  of  arms,  the  tyrant  we've  expelled. 
MELCH.   Why,  let  him  come,  with  all  his  armaments  ! 
The  foe  within  has  fled  before  our  arms; 
We'll  give  him  welcome  warmly  from  without ! 
The  passes  to  the  country  are  but  few  ; 
And  these  we'll  boldly  cover  with  our  bodies. 
We  are  bound  by  an  indissoluble  league, 
And  all  his  armies  shall  not  make  us  quail. 

[Enter  ROSSELMAN>T  and  STAUFFACHER. 
(speaking  as  he  enters). 
These  are  the  awful  judgments  of  the  lord ! 
PEAS.      What  is  the  matter  ? 


RUODI. 
BAUM. 


WILHELM    TELL. 


105 


ROSSELMANN.  In  what  times  we  live! 

FURST.     Say  on,  what  is't?     Ha,  Werner,  is  it  you  ? 

What  tidings  ? 

PEASANT.  What's  the  matter? 

ROSSELMANN.  Hear  and  wonder. 

STAUFF.  We  are  released  from  one  great  cause  of  dread. 
ROSSEL    The  emperor  is  murdered. 
FURST.  Gracious  heaven ! 

[PEASANTS  rise  tip  and  throng  round  STAUF- 

FACHER. 

ALL.         Murdered !  the  emperor  ?  What!   The  emperor  1 
Hear ! 

MELCH.   Impossible!    How  came  you  by  the  news? 

STAUFF.  'Tis  true !    Near  Bruck,  by  the  assassin's  hand, 
King  Albert  fell.     A  most  trustworthy  man, 
John   JMiiller,   from    Schaffhausen,  brought  the 
news. 

FURST.    Who  dared  commit  so  horrible  a  deed? 

STAUFF.  The  doer  makes  the  deed  more  dreadful  still ; 
It  was  his  nephew,  his  own  brother's  child, 
Duke  John  of  Austria,  who  struck  the  blow. 

MELCH.   What  drove  him  to  so  dire  a  parricide  ? 

STAUFF.  The  emperor  kept  his  patrimony  back, 
Despite  his  urgent  importunities; 
'Twas  said,  indeed,  he  never  meant  to  give  it, 
But  with  a  mitre  to  appease  the  duke. 
However  this  may  be,  the  duke  gave  ear, 
To  the  ill  counsel  of  his  friends  in  arms ; 
And  with  the  noble  lords,  Von  Eschenbach, 
Von  Tegerfeld,  Von  Wart,  and  Palm,  resolved, 
Since  his  demands  for  justice  were  despised, 
With  his  own  hands  to  take  revenge  at  least. 

FURST.     But  say,  how  compassed  he  the  dreadful  deed? 

STAUFF.  The  king  was  riding  down  from  Stein  to  Baden, 
Upon  his  way  to  join  the  court  at  Rheinfeld,  — 
With  him  a  train  of  high-born  gentlemen, 
And  the  young  princes,  John  and  Leopold. 
And  when  they  reached  the  ferry  of  the  Reuss, 
The  assassins  forced  their  way  into  the  boat, 
To  separate  the  emperor  from  his  suite. 
His  highness  landed,  and  was  riding  on 


106  WILHELM  TELL. 

Across  a  fresh-ploughed  field  —  where  once,  they 

say, 

A  mighty  city  stood  in  Pagan  times  — 
With  Hapsburg's  ancient  turrets  full  in  sight, 
Where  all  the  grandeur  of  his  line  had  birth  — 
When   Duke  John   plunged   a   dagger   in    his 

throat, 

Palm  ran  him  through  the  body  with  his  lance, 
Eschenbach  cleft  his  skull  at  one  fell  blow, 
And  down  he  sank,  all  weltering  in  his  blood, 
On  his  own  soil,  by  his  own  kinsmen  slain. 
Those  on  the  opposite  bank,  who  saw  the  deed, 
Being  parted  by  the  stream,  could  only  raise 
An  unavailing  cry  of  loud  lament. 
But  a  poor  woman,  sitting  by  the  way, 
Raised  him,  and  on  her  breast  he  bled  to  death. 

MELCH.   Thus  has  he  dug  his  own  untimely  grave, 
Who  sought  insatiably  to  grasp  at  all. 

STAUFF.  The  country  round  is  filled  with  dire  alarm. 
The  mountain  passes  are  blockaded  all, 
And  sentinels  on  every  frontier  set  ; 
E'en  ancient  Zurich  barricades  her  gates, 
That  for  these  thirty  years  have  open  stood, 
Dreading    the    murderers,    and    the    avengers 

more, 

For  cruel  Agnes  comes,  the  Hungarian  queen, 
To  all  her  sex's  tenderness  a  stranger, 
Armed    with    the   thunders    of   the   church   to 

wreak 

Dire  vengeance  for  her  parent's  royal  blood, 
On  the  whole  race  of  those  that  murdered  him,  — 
Upon  their  servants,   children,   children's  chil- 
dren, — 

Nay'  on  the  stones  that  build  their  castle  walls. 
Deep  has  she  sworn  a  vow  to  immolate 
Whole  generations  on  her  father's  tomb, 
And  bathe  in  blood  as  in  the  dew  of  May. 

MELCH.    Know  you  which  way  the  murderers  have  fled? 

STAUFF.  No  sooner  had  they  done  the  deed  than  they 
Took  flight,  each  following  a  different  route, 
And  parted,  ne'er  to  see  each  other  more. 


WILHELM    TELL.  107 

Duke  John  must  still  be  wandering  'in  the  moun- 
tains. 

TUKST.     And  thus  their  crime  has  yielded  them  no  fruits. 
Revenge  is  barren.     Of  itself  it  makes 
The  dreadful  food  it  feeds  on ;  its  delight 
Is  murder  —  its  satiety  despair. 

STAUFF.  The  assassins  reap  no  profit  by  their  crime; 
But  we  shall  pluck  with  unpolluted  hands 
The  teeming  fruits  of  their  most  bloody  deed, 
For  we  are  ransomed  from  our  heaviest  fear  ; 
The  direst  foe  of  liberty  has  fallen, 
And,  'tis  reported,  that  the  crown  will  pass 
From  Hapsburg's  house  into  another  line. 
The  empire  is  determined  to  assert 
Its  old  prerogative  of  choice,  I  hear. 

FURST  and  several  others. 

Has  any  one  been  named  to  you  ? 

STAUFFACHEB.  The  Count 

Of  Luxembourg  is  widely  named  already. 

FURST.     T'is  well  we  stood  so  stanchly  by  the  empire  ! 
Now  we  may  hope  for  justice,  and  with  cause. 

STAUFF.  The  emperor  will  need  some  valiant  friends, 

And  he  will  shelter  us  from  Austria's  vengeance. 
[  The  peasantry  embrace.     Enter  SACRIST, 
with  imperial  messenger. 

SACRIST.  Here  are  the  worthy  chiefs  of  Switzerland  ! 

KOSSELMAXX  and  several  others. 
Sacrist,  what  news  ? 

SACRISTAN.  A  courier  brings  this  letter. 

ALL  (to  WALTER  FURST). 
Open  and  read  it. 

FURST  (reading].  "  To  the  worthy  men 

Of  Uri,  Schwytz,  and  Unterwald,  the  Queen 
Elizabeth  sends  grace  and  all  good  wishes  !  " 

MANY  VOICES. 

What  wants  the  queen  with  us  ?  Her  reign  is  dona 

FURST  (reads). 

"  In  the  great  grief  and  doleful  widowhood, 
In  which  the  bloody  exit  of  her  lord 
Has  plunged  her  majesty,  she  still  remembers 
The  ancient  faith  and  love  of  Switzerland." 


108  WILHELM    TELL. 

MELCH.    She  ne'er  did  that  in  her  prosperity. 

ROSSEL.  Hush,  let  us  hear. 

FURST  (reads).  "And  she  is  well  assured, 

Her  people  will  in  due  abhorrence  hold 
The  perpetrators  of  this  damned  deed. 
On  the  three  Cantons,  therefore,  she  relies, 
That  they  in  nowise  lend  the  murderer's  aid ; 
But  rather,  that  they  loyally  assist 
To  give  them  up  to  the  avenger's  hand, 
Remembering  the  love  and  grace  which  they 
Of  old  received  from  Rudolph's  princely  house." 
[Symptoms   of  dissatisfaction  among  the 
peasantry. 

MANY  VOICES. 

The  love  and  grace  ! 

STAUFF.  Grace  from  the  father  we,  indeed,  received, 
But  what  have  we  to  boast  of  from  the  son  ? 
Did  he  confirm  the  charter  of  our  freedom, 
As  all  preceding  emperors  had  done? 
Did  he  judge  righteous  judgment,  or  afford 
Shelter  or  stay  to  innocence  oppressed  ? 
Nay,  did  he  e'en  give  audience  to  the  envoys 
We  sent  to  lay  our  grievances  before  him? 
Not  one  of  all  these  things  e'er  did  the  king. 
And  had  we  not  ourselves  achieved  our  rights 
By  resolute  valor  our  necessities 
Had  never  touched  him.     Gratitude  to  him! 
Within  these  vales  he  sowed  not  gratitude. 
He  stood  upon  an  eminence  —  he  might 
Have  been  a  very  father  to  his  people, 
But  all  his  aim  and  pleasure  was  to  raise 
Himself   and   his  own   house :    and    now   may 

those 
Whom  he  has  aggrandized  lament  for  him  ! 

FURST.     We  will  not  triumph  in  his  fall,  nor  now 

Recall  to  mind  the  wrongs  we  have  endured. 
Far  be't  from  us !     Yet,  that  we  should  avenge 
The  sovereign's  death,  who  never  did  us  good, 
And  hunt  down  those  who  ne'er  molested  us, 
Becomes  us  not,  nor  is  our  duty.     LOVQ 
Must  bring  its  offerings  free  and  unconstrained; 


WILHELM    TELL.  109 

From  all  enforced  duties  death  absolves  — 

And  unto  him  we  are  no  longer  bound. 
MELCH.    And  if  the  queen  laments  within  her  bower, 

Accusing  heaven  in  sorrow's  wild  despair; 

Here  see  a  people  from  its  anguish  freed. 

To  that  same  heaven  send  up  its  thankful  praise, 

For  who  would  reap  regrets  must  sow  affection. 
[Exit  the  imperial  courier. 
STAUFFACHER  (to  the  people). 

But   where   is   Tell  ?     Shall  he,  our  freedom's 
founder, 

Alone  be  absent  from  our  festival  ? 

He  did  the  most  —  endured  the  worst  of  all. 

Come  —  to  his  dwelling  let  us  all  repair, 

And  bid  the  savior  of  our  country  hail ! 

[Exeunt  omnes. 

SCENE  II. 

Interior  of  TELL'S  cottage.     A  fire  burning  on  the  hearth.     The 
open  door  shows  the  scene  outside. 

HEDWIG,  WALTER,  and  WILHELM. 

HEDW.    Boys,  dearest  boys  !  your  father  comes  to-day. 

He  lives,  is  free,  and  we  and  all  are  free ! 

The  country  owes  its  liberty  to  him ! 
WALT.     And  I  too,  mother,  bore  my  part  in  it ; 

I  shall  be  named  with  him.     My  father's  shaft 

Went  closely  by  my  life,  but  yet  I  shook  not! 
HEDWIG  {embracing  him). 

Yes,  yes,  thou  art  restored  to  me  again ! 

Twice  have  I  given  thee  birth,  twice  suffered  all 

A  mother's  agonies  for  thee,  my  child  ! 

But  this  is  past ;  I  have  you  both,  boys,  both ! 

And  your  dear  father  will  be  back  to-day. 

[A  monk  appears  at  the  door. 
WILH.      See,  mother,  yonder  stands  a  holy  friar ; 

He's  asking  alms,  no  doubt. 
HEDWIG.  Go  lead  him  in, 

That  we  may  give  him  cheer,  and  make  him  feel 

That  he  has  come  into  the  house  of  joy. 

[Exit,  and  returns  immediately  with  a  cup. 


110  WILHELM   TELL. 

WILIIKLM  (to  the  monk). 

Come  in,  good  man.     Mother  will  give  you  food 
WALT.     Come  in,  and  rest,  then  go  refreshed  away ! 
MONK  ((jlnncing  round  in,  terror,  with  -unquiet  looks). 

Where  am  IV     In  what  country? 
WALTER.  Have  you  los,, 

Your  way,  that  you  are  ignorant  of  this? 

You  are  at  Biirglen,  in  the  land  of  Uri, 

Just  at  the  entrance  of  tlie  Sheckenthal. 
MONK  (to  HEDWIG). 

Are  you  alone?     Your  husband,  is  he  here? 
HEDW.     I  momently  expect  him.     But  what  ails  you? 

You  look  as  one  whose  soul  is  ill  at  ease. 

Whoe'er  you  be,  you  are  in  want;  take  that. 

[  Offers  him  the  cup. 
MONK.     Howe'er  my  sinking  heart  may  yearn  for  food, 

I  will  take  nothing  till  you've  promised  me 

HEDW.     Touch  not  my  dress,  nor  yet  advance  one  step. 

Stand  off,  I  say,  if  you  would  have  me  hear  you. 
MONK.     Oh,  by  this  hearth's  bright,  hospitable  blaze, 

By  your   dear   children's   heads,   which    I    em- 
brace    [  Grasps  the  bo>/s. 

HEDW.     Stand  back,  I  say  !     What  is  your  purpose,  man  ? 

Back  from  my  boys !    You  are  no  monk,  —  no,  no. 

Beneath  that  robe  content  and  peace  should  dwell, 

But  neither  lives  within  that  face  of  thine. 
MONK.     I  am  the  veriest  wretch  that  breathes  on  earth. 
HEDW.     The  heart  is  never  deaf  to  wretchedness ; 

But  thy  look  freezes  up  my  inmost  soul. 
WALTER  (springs  up). 

Mother,  my  father ! 
HEDWIG.  Oh,  my  God  ! 

\_Is  about  to  follow,  trembles  and  stops. 
WILHELM  (running  after  his  brother).  My  father  ! 

WALTER  (loithout).     Thou'rt  here  once  more! 
WILHELM  (without).  My  father,  my  dear  father! 

TELL  (without). 

Yes,  here   I   am    once   more !     Where  is  your 

mother  ?  [  They  enter. 

WALT.     There  at  the  door  she  stands,  and  can  no  further, 

She  trembles  so  with  terror  and  with  joy. 


WILHELM    TELL.  Ill 

TELL.       Oh  Hedwig,  Hedwig,  mother  of  my  children ! 

God  has  been  kind  and  helpful  in  our  woes. 

Xo  tyrant's  hand  shall  e'er  divide  us  more. 
HEDWIG  (falling  on  his  neck). 

Oh,  Tell,  what  have  I  suffered  for  thy  sake ! 

[Monk  becomes  attentive. 
TELL.       Forget  it  now,  and  live  for  joy  alone ! 

I'm  here  again  with  you  !     This  is  my  cot ! 

I  stand  again  on  mine  own  hearth ! 
WILHELM.  But,  father, 

Where  is  your  crossbow  left  ?    I  see  it  not. 
TELL.      Nor  shalt  thou  ever  see  it  more,  my  boy. 

It  is  suspended  in  a  holy  place, 

And  in  the  chase  shall  ne'er  be  used  again. 
HEDW.    Oh,  Tell,  Tell ! 

[Steps  back,  dropping  his  hand. 
TELL.       What  alarms  thee,  dearest  wife  ? 
HEDW.     How  —  how   dost   thou   return   to   me?      This 
hand 

Dare  I  take  hold  of  it?    This  hand  — Oh  God! 
TELL  (with  firmness  and  animation). 

Has  shielded  you  and  set  my  country  free ; 

Freely  I  raise  it  in  the  face  of  Heaven. 
[MONK  gives  a  sudden  start  —  he  looks  at  him. 

Who  is  this  friar  here  ? 
HEDWIG.  Ah,  I  forgot  him. 

Speak  thou  with  him  ;  I  shudder  at  his  presence. 
MONK  (stepping  nearer). 

Are  you  that  Tell  that  slew  the  governor? 
TELL.       Yes,  I  am  he.     I  hide  the  fact  from  no  man. 
MONK.     You  are  that  Tell !     Ah  !  it  is  God's  own  hand 

That  hath  conducted  me  beneath  your  roof. 
TELL  (examining  him  closely). 

You  are  no  monk.     Who  are  you  ? 
MONK.  You  have  slain 

The  governor,  who  did  you  wrong.     I  too, 

Have  slain  a  foe,  who  late  denied  me  justice. 

He  was  no  less  your  enemy  than  mine. 

I've  rid  the  land  of  him. 
TELL  (drawing  back).  Thou  art  —  oh  horror ! 

In  —  children,  children  —  in  without  a  word. 


112  WILHELM    TELL. 

Go,  my  dear  wife  !     Go  !     Go  !     Unhappy  man, 
Thou  shouldst  be 

HEDWIG.  Heavens,  who  is  it  ? 

TELL.  Do  not  ask. 

Away  !  away  !  the  children  must  not  hear  it. 
Out  of  the  house  —  away  !     Thou  must  not  rest 
'Neath  the  same  roof  with  this  unhappy  man  ! 

HEDW.    Alas  !    What  is  it  ?    Come  ! 

\Exit  with  the  children. 

TELL  (to  the  MONK).  Thou  art  the  Duke 

Of  Austria  —  I  know  it.     Thou  hast  slain 
The  emperor,  thy  uncle,  and  liege  lord. 

JOHN.       He  robbed  me  of  my  patrimony. 

TELL.  How ! 

Slain   him  —  thy  king,   thy   uncle !      And   the 

earth 

Still  bears  thee !     And  the  sun   still  shines  on 
thee ! 

JOHN.       Tell,  hear  me,  ere  you 

TELL.  Reeking  with  the  blood 

Of  him  that  was  thy  emperor  and  kinsman, 
Durst  thou  set  foot  within  my  spotless  house? 
Show  thy  fell  visage  to  a  virtuous  man, 
And  claim  the  rites  of  hospitality  ? 

JOHN.       I  hoped  to  find  compassion  at  your  hands. 
You  also  took  revenge  upon  your  foe ! 

TELL.       Unhappy  man  !     Arid  dar'st  thou  thus  confound 
Ambition's  bloody  crime  with  the  dread  act 
To  which  a  father's  direful  need  impelled  him  ? 
Hadst   thou   to   shield   thy    children's    darling 

heads? 

To  guai'd  thy  fireside's  sanctuary  —  ward  off 
The  last,  worst  doom  from  all  that  thou  didst 

love  ? 

To  heaven  I  raise  my  unpolluted  hands, 
To  curse  thine  act  and  thee  !     I  have  avenged 
That  holy  nature  which  thou  hast  profaned. 
I  have  no  part  with  thee.    Thou  art  a  murderer; 
I've  shielded  all  that  was  most  dear  to  rne. 

JOHN.      You  cast  me  off  to  comfortless  despair !. 

TELL.      My  blood  runs  cold  even  while  I  talk  with  thee. 


WLLHELM   TELL.  113 

Away  !    Pursue  thine  awful  course  !   Nor  longer 
Pollute  the  cot  where  innocence  abides ! 

[JOHN  turns  to  depart, 

JOHN.       I  cannot  live,  and  will  no  longer  thus ! 

TELL.       And   yet   my  soul   bleeds   for  thee  —  gracious 

heaven ! 

So  young,  of  such  a  noble  line,  the  grandson 
Of  Rudolph,  once  my  lord  and  emperor, 
An  outcast  —  murderer  —  standing  at  my  door, 
The  poor  man's  door  —  a  suppliant,  in  despair! 

[Covers  his  face. 

JOHN.      If  thou  hast  power  to  weep,  oh  let  my  fate 
Move  your  compassion  —  it  is  horrible. 
I  am  —  say,  rather  was  —  a  prince.     I  might 
Have  been  most  happy  had  I  only  curbed 
The  impatience  of  my  passionate  desires; 
But  envy  gnawed  my  heart  —  I  saw  the  youth 
Of  mine  own  cousin  Leopold  endowed 
With  honor,  and  enriched  with  broad  domains, 
The  while  myself,  that  was  in  years  his  equal, 
Was  kept  in  abject  and  disgraceful  nonage. 

TELL.       Unhappy  man,  thy  uncle  knew  thee  well, 

When  he  withheld  both  land  and  subjects  from 

thee ; 

Thou,  by  thy  mad  and  desperate  act  hast  set 
A  fearful  seal  upon  his  sage  resolve. 
Where  are  the  bloody  partners  of  thy  crime  ? 

JOHN.       Where'er  the  demon  of  revenge  has  borne  them  ; 
I  have  not  seen  them  since  the  luckless  deed. 

TELL.       Know'st  thou  the  empire's  ban  is  out,  —  that 

thou 

Art  interdicted  to  thy  friends,  and  given 
An  outlawed  victim  to  thine  enemies ! 

JOHN.      Therefore  I  shun  all  public  thoroughfares, 
And  venture  not  to  knock  at  any  door  — 
I  turn  my  footsteps  to  the  wilds,  and  through 
The  mountains  roam,  a  terror  to  myself. 
From  mine  own  self  I  shrink  with  horror  back, 
Should  a  chance  brook  reflect  my  ill-starred  form. 

If  thou  hast  pity  for  a  fellow-mortal 

\_FaUs  down  before  him. 


114  WILHELM   TELi,. 

TELL.       Stand  up,  stand  up  ! 

JOHN.  Not  till  thou  &ha!t  extend 

Thy  hand  in  promise  of  assistance  to  me. 

TELL.       Can  I  assist  fcheef     Can  a  sinful  man  ? 

Yet  get  thee  up,  —  how  black  soe  er  th^  crimo, 
Thou  art  a  man.     I,  too,  am  one.     Fiom  Tell 
Shall  no  one  part  uncornforted.     I  will 
Do  all  that  lies  within  my  power. 

DUKE  JOHN  (springs  up  and  grasps  him  ardently  by  the 

hand).  Oh,  Tell, 

You  save  me  from  the  terrors  of  despair. 

TELL.      Let  go  my  hand !   Thou  must  away.   Thou  canst 

not 

Remain  here  undiscovered,  and  discovered 
Thou  canst  not  count  on  auccor.     Which  way, 

then, 
Wilt  bend  thy  steps  ?   Where  dost  thou  hope  to 

find 
A  place  of  rest  ? 

DUKE  JOHN.  Alas  !  alas !  I  know  not. 

TELL.       Hear,  then,  what  heaven  suggested  to  my  heart, 
Thou  must  to  Italy,  —  to  Saint  Peter's  city,  — 
There  cast  thyself  at  the  pope's  feet,  —  confess 
Thy  guilt  to  him,  and  ease  thy  laden  soul ! 

JOHN.       But  will  he  not  surrender  me  to  vengeance! 

TELL.       Whate'er  he  does  receive  as  God's  decree. 

JOHN.       But  how  am  I  to  reach  that  unknown  land  ? 

1  have  no  knowledge  of  the  way,  and  dare  not 
Attach  myself  to  other  travellers. 

TELL.  I  will  describe  the  road,  and  mark  me  well ! 
You  must  ascend,  keeping  along  the  Reuss, 
Which  from  the  mountains  dashes  wildly  down. 

DUKE  JOHN  (in  alarm). 

What !  See  the  Reuss?  The  witness  of  my  deed  ! 

TELL.       The   road    you   take   lies   through   the   river's 

gorge, 

And  many  a  cross  proclaims  where  travellers 
Have  perished  'neath  the  avalanche's  fall. 

JOHN.       I  have  no  fear  for  nature's  terrors,  so 
I  can  appease  the  torments  of  my  soul. 

TELL.      At  every  cross  kneel  down  and  expiate 


W1LHELM    TELL. 

Your  crime  with  burning  penitential  tears  — 
-.     And  if  you  'scape  the  perils  of  the  pass, 

And  are  not  whelmed  beneath  the  drifted  snows 
That  from  the  frozen  peaks  come  sweeping  down, 
You'll  reach  the  bridge  that  hangs  in  drizzling 

spray ; 

Then  if  it  yield  not  'neath  your  heavy  guilt, 
When  you  have  left  it  safely  in  your  rear, 
Before  you  frowns  the  gloomy  Gate  of  Rocks, 
Where  never  sun  did  shine.  Proceed  through  this, 
And  you  will  reach  a  bright  and  gladsome  vale. 
Yet  must  you  hurry  on  with  hasty  steps, 
For  in  the  haunts  of  peace  you  must  not  linger. 

JOHN.       Oh,  Rudolph,  Rudolph,  royal  grandsire !  thus 
Thy  grandson  first  sets  foot  within  thy  realms! 

TELL.       Ascending  still  you  gain  the  Gotthardt's  heights, 
On  which  the  everlasting  lakes  repose, 
That  from  the  streams  of  heaven  itself  are  fed, 
There  to  the  German  soil  you  bid  farewell ; 
And  thence,  with  rapid  course,  another  stream 
Leads  you  to  Italy,  your  promised  land. 

\_Ranz  des  Vaches  sounded  on  Alp-horns  is 

heard  without. 
But  I  hear  voices !     Hence ! 

HEDWIG  (hurrying  in).  Where  art  thou,  Tell  ? 

Our  father  comes,  and  in  exulting  bands 
All  the  confederates  approach. 

DUKE  JOHN  (covering  himself}.  Woe's  me  ! 

I  dare  not  tarry  'mid  this  happiness ! 

TELL.       Go,  dearest  wife,  and  give  this  man  to  eat. 

Spare  not  your  bounty.     For  his  road  is  long, 
And  one  where  shelter  will  be  hard  to  find. 
Quick !  they  approach. 

HEDWIG.  Who  is  he  ? 

TELL.  Do  not  ask ! 

And  when  he  quits  thee,  turn  thine  eyes  away 
That  they  may  not  behold  the  road  he  takes. 
[DUKE  JOHN  advances  hastily  towards  TELL, 
but  he  beckons  him  aside  and  exit.     When 
both  have  left  the  stage,  the  scene  changes, 
and  discloses  in 


116 


WILHELM    TELL. 


SCENE  III. 

The  whole  valley  before  TELL'S  house,  the  heights  which  enclose  it 
occupied  by  peasants,  grouped  into  tableaux.  Some  are  seen 
crossing  a  lofty  bridge  which  crosses  to  the  Sechen.  WALTER 
FURST  with  "the  two  boys.  WERNER  and  STAUFFACHER  come 
forward.  Others  throng  after  them.  When  TELL  appears  all 
receive  him  with  loud  cheers. 

ALL.        Long  live  brave  Tell,  our  shield,  our  liberator. 

[  While   those   in  front  are   crowding  round 
TELL   and  embracing  him,  RUDENZ   and 
BERTHA  appear.      The  former  salutes  the 
peasantry,    the  latter   embraces   HEDWIO. 
The  music  from  the  mountains  continues 
to  play.      When  it  has  stopped,  BERTHA 
steps  into  the  centre  of  the  crcncd. 
BERTH.    Peasants !     Confederates  !     Into  your  league 
Receive  me  here  that  happily  am  the  first 
To  find  protection  in  the  land  of  freedom. 
To  your  brave  hands  I  now  intrust  my  rights. 
Will  you  protect  me  as  your  citizen  ? 
PEAS.       Ay,  that  we  will,  with  life  and  fortune  both ! 
BERTH.    'Tis  well!     And  to  this  youth  I  give  my  hand. 

A  free  Swiss  maiden  to  a  free  Swiss  man  ! 
RUD.        And  from  this  moment  all  my  serfs  are  free ! 

[Music  and  the  curtain  fatts. 


DON    CARLOS. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


PHILIP  THE  SECOND,  King  of  Spain. 
J>oN  CARLOS,  Prince.,  Son  of  Philip. 
ALEXANDER  FARNESE,  Prince  of 

Parma. 

MARQUIS  DE  POSA. 
DUKE  OF  ALVA. 
COUNT  LKRMA,  Colonel  of 

the  Body  Guard, 
DUKE  OF  FEKIA,  Knight 

of  the  Golden  Fleece, 


e          ec,  e 

DUKE   OF    MEDINA    Si-  \of  Spain. 

DONIA,  Admiral, 
DON  RAIMOND  DE  TAXIS, 

Postmaster-  General  , 
DOMINGO,  Confessor  to  the  King. 
GRAND  INQUISITOR  of  Spain. 
PRIOR  of  a  Carthusian  Convent. 


PAGE  of  the  Queen. 

DON  Louis  MERCADO,  Physician  to 

the  Queen. 
ELIZABETH    DE    VALOIS,    Queen  of 

Spain. 
INFANTA  CLARA  FARNESE,  a  Child 

three  years  of  age. 
DUCHESS    D'OLIVAREZ,     Principal 

Attendant  on  the  Queen. 


Grandees       MARCHIONESS  DE 


MONDECAR,  ; 

PRINCESS  EBOLI,  ™lt™  the 

COUNTESS  FUENTES,  J       v"e< 
Several  Ladies,  Xobles,  Pages,0jficers 

of    the    Body-Guard,   and    mute 

Characters. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

The  Royal  Gardens  in  Aranjuez. 
CABLOS  and  DOMINGO. 

DOMINGO. 

Our  pleasant  sojourn  in  Aranjuez 
Is  over  now,  and  yet  your  highness  quits 
These  joyous  scenes  no  happier  than  before. 
Our  visit'hath  been  fruitless.     Oh,  rny  prince, 
Break  this  mysterious  and  gloomy  silence  I 
Open  your  heart  to  your  own  father's  heart  I 
A  monarch  never  can  too  dearly  buy 
The  peace  of  his  own  son  —  his  only  son. 

[CARLOS  looks  on  the  ground  in  silence. 
Is  there  one  dearest  wish  that  bounteous  Heaven 
Hath  e'er  withheld  from  her  most  favored  child  ? 
I  stood  beside,  when  in  Toledo's  walls 
The  lofty  Charles  received  his  vassals'  homage, 

117 


118  DON   CARLOS. 

When  conqtiered  princes  thronged  to  kiss  his  hand, 

And  there  at  once  six  mighty  kingdoms  fell 

In  fealty  at  his  feet:  I  stood  and  marked 

The  young,  proud  blood  mount  to  his  glowing  cheek, 

I  saw  his  bosom  swell  with  high  resolves, 

His  eye,  all  radiant  with  triumphant  pride, 

Flash  through  the  assembled  throng ;  and  that  same  ey< 

Confessed,  "  Now  am  1  wholly  satisfied  !  " 

[CAKLOS  turns  away. 

This  silent  sorrow,  which  for  eight  long  moons 
Hath  hung  its  shadows,  prince,  upon  your  brow  — 
The  mystery  of  the  court,  the  nation's  grief  — 
Hath  cost  your  father  many  a  sleepless  night, 
And  many  a  tear  of  anguish  to  your  mother. 

CAELOS  (turning  hastily  round). 

My  mother !     Grant,  O  heaven,  I  may  forget 
How  she  became  my  mother ! 

DOMINGO. 

Gracious  prince ! 

CARLOS  (passing  his  hands  thoughtfully  over  his  brow). 

Alas !  alas !  a  fruitful  source  of  woe 

Have  mothers  been  to  me.     My  youngest  act, 

When  first  these  eyes  beheld  the  light  of  day, 

Destroyed  a  mother. 

DOMINGO. 

Is  it  possible 
That  this  reproach  disturbs  your  conscience,  prince 

CARLOS. 

And  my  new  mother  !     Hath  she  not  already 
Cost  me  my  father's  heart?     Scarce  loved  at  best. 
My  claim  to  some  small  favor  lay  in  this  — 
I  was  his  only  child  !     'Tis  over  !     She 
Hath  blest  him  with  a  daughter  —  and  who  knows 
What  slumbering  ills  the  future  hath  in  store  ? 

DOMINGO. 

You  jest,  my  prince.    All  Spain  adores  its  queen. 
Shall  it  be  thought  that  you,  of  all  the  world, 


DON   CARLOS.  119 

Alone  should  view  her  with  the  eyes  of  hate  — 

Gaze  on  her  charms,  and  yet  be  coldly  wise  ? 

How,  prince  ?     The  loveliest  lady  of  her  time, 

A  queen  withal,  and  once  your  own  betrothed  ? 

No,  no,  impossible  —  it  cannot  be ! 

Where  all  men  love,  you  surely  cannot  hate. 

Carlos  could  never  so  belie  himself. 

I  prithee,  prince,  take  heed  she  do  not  learn 

That  she  hath  lost  her  son's  regard.     The  news 

Would  pain  her  deeply. 

CARLOS. 

Ay,  sir  !  think  you  so  ? 

DOMINGO. 

Your  highness  doubtless  will  remember  how, 

At  the  late  tournament  in  Saragossa, 

A  lance's  splinter  struck  our  gracious  sire. 

The  queen,  attended  by  her  ladies,  sat 

High  in  the  centre  gallery  of  the  palace, 

And  looked  upon  the  fight.     A  cry  arose, 

"  The  king !  he  bleeds !  "     Soon  through  the  general  din, 

A  rising  murmur  strikes  upon  her  ear. 

"  The   prince  —  the    prince !  "    she    cries,    and    forward 

rushed, 

As  though  to  leap  down  from  the  balcony, 
When  a  voice  answered,  "  No,  the  king  himself  !  " 
"  Then  send  for  his  physicians  !  "  she  replied, 
And  straight  regained  her  former  self-composure. 

[After  a  short  pause. 
But  you  seem  wrapped  in  thought? 

CARLOS. 

In  wonder,  sir, 

That  the  king's  merry  confessor  should  own 
So  rare  a  skill  in  the  romancer's  art.  [Austerely 

Yet  have  I  heard  it  said  that  those 
Who  watch  men's  looks  and  carry  tales  about, 
Have  done  more  mischief  in  this  world  of  ours 
Than  the  assassin's  knife,  or  poisoned  bowl. 
Your  labor,  sir,  hath  been  but  ill  bestowed  ; 
Would  you  win  thanks,  go  seek  them  of  the  king. 


120  DON  CARLOS. 

DOMINGO. 

This  caution,  prince,  is  wise.     Be  circumspect 
With  men  —  but  not  with  every  man  alike. 
Repel  not  friends  and  hypocrites  together ; 
I  mean  you  well,  believe  me ! 

CARLOS. 

Say  you  so  ? 

Let  not  my  father  mark  it,  then,  or  else 
Farewell  your  hopes  forever  of  the  purple. 

DOMINGO  (starts). 
How! 

CARLOS. 

Even  so  !     Hath  he  m>t  promised  you 
The  earliest  purple  in  the  gift  of  Spain  ? 

DOMINGO. 
You  mock  me,  prince  ! 

CARLOS. 

Nay  !     Heaven  forefend,  that  I 
Should  mock  that  awful  man  whose  fateful  lips 
Can  doom  my  father  or  to  heaven  or  hell ! 

DOMINGO. 

I  dare  not,  prince,  presume  to  penetrate 

The  sacred  mystery  of  your  secret  grief, 

Yet  I  implore  your  highness  to  remember 

That,  for  a  conscience  ill  at  ease,  the  church 

Hath  opened  an  asylum,  of  which  kings 

Hold  not  the  key  —  where  even  crimes  are  purged 

Beneath  the  holy  sacramental  seal. 

You  know  my  meaning,  prince  —  I've  said  enough. 

CARLOS. 

No !  be  it  never  said,  I  tempted  so 
The  keeper  of  that  seal. 

DOMINGO. 

Prince,  this  mistrust 

You  wrong  the  most  devoted  of  your  servants; 


DON    CARLOS.  121 


CARLOS. 

Then  give  me  up  at  once  without  a  thought 
Thou  art  a  holy  man  — the  world  knows  that  — 
But,  to  speak  plain,  too  zealous  far  for  me. 
The  road  to  Peter's  chair  is  long  and  rough, 
And  too  much  knowledge  might  encumber  you. 
Go,  tell  this  to  the  king,  who  sent  thee  hither ! 

DOMINGO. 
Who  sent  me  hither  ? 

CARLOS. 

Ay  !     Those  were  my  words. 
Too  well  —  too  well,  I  know,  that  I'm  betrayed, 
Slandered  on  every  hand  — that  at  this  court 
A  hundred  eyes  are  hired  to  watch  my  steps. 
I  know,  that  royal  Philip  to  his  slaves 
Hath  sold  his  only  son,  and  every  wretch, 
Who  takes  account  of  each  half-uttered  word, 
Receives  such  princely  guerdon  as  was  ne'er 

Bestowed  on  deeds  of  honor.     Oil,  1  know 

But  hush  !  —  no  more  of  that !    My  heart  will  else 
O'erflow  and  I've  already  said  too  much. 

DOMINGO. 

The  king  is  minded,  ere  the  set  of  sun, 

To  reach  Madrid  :  I  see  the  court  is  mustering. 

Have  I  permission,  prince? 

CARLOS. 

I'll  follow  straight. 

[Ex-It  DOMINGO. 

CARLOS  (after  a  short  silence). 

O  wretched  Philip !   wretched  as  thy  son  ! 

Soon  shall  thy  bosom  bleed  at  every  pore, 

Torn  by  suspicion's  poisonous  serpent  fang. 

Thy  fell  sagacity  full  soon  shall  pierce 

The  fatal  secret  it  is  bent  to  know, 

And  thou  wilt  madden,  when  it  breaks  upon  thee  ! 


122  DON   CARLOS. 

SCENE  II. 
CARLOS,  MARQUIS. OF  POSA. 

CARLOS. 

Lo !     Who  comes  here  ?  'Tis  he !     O  ye  kind  heavens, 
My  Roderigo  ! 

MARQUIS. 

Carlos ! 

CARLOS. 

Can  it  be  ? 

And  is  it  truly  thou  ?     O  yes,  it  is ! 
I  press  thee  to  my  bosom,  and  I  feel 
Thy  throbbing  heart  beat  wildly  'gainst  mine  own. 
And  now  all's  well  again.     In  this  embrace 
My  sick,  sad  heart  is  comforted.     I  hang 
Upon  my  Roderigo's  neck ! 

MARQUIS. 

Thy  heart ! 

Thy  sick  sad  heart !     And  what  is  well  again  — 
What  needeth  to  be  well  ?     Thy  words  amaze  me. 

CARLOS. 

What  brings  thee  back  so  suddenly  from  Brussels? 
Whom  must  I  thank  for  this  most  glad  surprise  ? 
And  dare  I  ask  ?     Whom  should  I  thank  but  thee, 
Thou  gracious  and  all  bounteous  Providence  ? 
Forgive  me,  heaven  !  if  joy  hath  crazed  my  brain. 
Thou  knewest  no  angel  watched  at  Carlos'  side, 
And  sent  me  this  !     And  yet  Task  who  sent  him. 

MARQUIS. 

Pardon,  dear  prince,  if  I  can  only  meet 
With  wonder  these  tumultuous  ecstacies. 
Not  thus  I  looked  to  find  Don  Philip's  son. 
A  hectic  red  burns  on  your  pallid  cheek, 
And  your  lips  quiver  with  a  feverish  heat. 
What  must  I  think,  dear  prince?    No  more  I  see 
The  youth  of  lion  heart,  to  whom  I  come 
The  envoy  of  a  brave  and  suffering  people. 
For  now  I  stand  not  here  as  Roderigo  — 


DON  CARLOS.  123 

Not  as  the  playmate  of  the  stripling  Carlos  — 

But,  as  the  deputy  of  all  mankind, 

I  clasp  thee  thus :  —  'tis  Flanders  that  clings  here 

Around  thy  neck,  appealing  with  my  tears 

To  thee  for  succor  in  her  bitter  need. 

This  land  is  lost,  this  land  so  dear  to  thee, 

If  Alva,  bigotry's  relentless  tool, 

Advance  on  Brussels  with  his  Spanish  laws. 

This  noble  country's  last  i'aint  hope  depends 

On  thee,  loved  scion  of  imperial  Charles! 

And,  should  thy  noble  heart  forget  to  beat 

In  human  nature's  cause,  Flanders  is  lost ! 

CARLOS. 
Then  it  is  lost ! 

MARQUIS. 

What  do  I  hear  ?    Alas ! 
CARLOS. 

Thou  speakest  of  times  that  long  have  passed  away. 

I,  too,  have  had  my  visions  of  a  Carlos, 

Whose  cheek  would  fire  at  freedom's  glorious  name, 

But  he,  alas  !  has  long  been  in  his  grave. 

He,  thou  seest  here,  no  longer  is  that  Carlos, 

Who  took  his  leave  of  thee  in  Alcala, 

Who  in  the  fervor  of  a  youthful  heart, 

Resolved,  at  some  no  distant  time,  to  wake 

The  golden  age  in  Spain  !     Oh,  the  conceit, 

Though  but  a  child's,  was  yet  divinely  fair  ! 

Those  dreams  are  past ! 

MARQUIS. 

Said  you,  those  dreams,  my  prince! 
And  were  they  only  dreams  ? 

CARLOS. 

Oh,  let  me  weep, 

Upon  thy  bosom  weep  these  burning  tears, 
My  only  friend  !     Not  one  have  I  —  not  one  — 
In  the  wide  circuit  of  this  earth,  —  not  one 
Far  as  the  sceptre  of  my  sire  extends, 
Far  as  the  navies  bear  the  flag  of  Spain, 


124  DON   CARLOS. 

There  is  no  spot  —  none  —  none,  where  I  dare  yield 

An  outlet  to  my  tears,  save  only  this. 

I  charge  thee,  Roderigo !     Oh,  by  all 

The  hopes  we  both  do  entertain  of  heaven, 

Cast  me  not  oft'  from  thee,  my  friend,  my  friend  ! 

[PosA  bends  over  him  in  silent  emotion. 
Look  on  me,  Posa,  as  an  orphan  child, 
Found  near  the  throne,  and  nurtured  by  thy  love. 
Indeed,  I  know  not  what  a  father  is. 
I  am  a  monarch's  son.     Oh,  were  it  so, 
As  my  heart  tells  me  that  it  surely  is, 
That  thou  from  millions  hast  been  chosen  out 
To  comprehend  my  being ;  if  it  be  true, 
That  all-creating  nature  has  designed 
In  me  to  reproduce  a  Roderigo, 
And  on  the  morning  of  our  life  attuned 
Our  souls'  soft  concords  to  the  selfsame  key  ; 
If  one  poor  tear,  which  gives  my  heart  relief, 
To  thee  were  dearer  than  my  father's  favor 

MARQUIS. 
Oh,  it  is  dearer  far  than  all  the  world ! 

CARLOS. 

I'm  fallen  so  low,  have  grown  so  poor  withal, 
I  must  recall  to  thee  our  childhood's  years,  — 
Must  ask  thee  payment  of  a  debt  incurred 
When  thou  and  I  were  scarce  to  boyhood  grown. 
Dost  thou  remember,  how  we  grew  together, 
Two  daring  youths,  like  brothers,  side  by  side  ? 
I  had  no  sorrow  but  to  see  myself 
Eclipsed  by  thy  bright  genius.     So  I  vowed, 
Since  I  might  never  cope  with  thee  in  power, 
That  I  would  love  thee  with  excess  of  love. 
Then  with  a  thousand  shows  of  tenderness, 
And  warm  affection,  I  besieged  thy  heart, 
Which  cold  and  proudly  still  repulsed  them  all. 
Oft  have  I  stood,  and  —  yet  thou  sawest  it  never ^ 
Hot  bitter  tear-drops  brimming  in  mine  eyes, 
When  I  have  marked  thee,  passing  me  unheeded? 
Fold  to  thy  bosom  youths  of  humbler  birth. 
"  Why  only  these  ?"  in  anguish,  once  I  asked  — 


DON    CARLOS.  125 

u  Ain  I  not  kind  and  good  to  thee  as  they  ?  " 
But  dropping  on  thy  knees,  thine  answer  came, 
With  an  unloving  look  of  cold  reserve, 
"  This  is  my  duty  to  the  monarch's  son  ! 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  spare  me,  dearest  prince,  nor  now  recall 
Those  boyish  acts  that  make  me  blush  for  shame. 

CARLOS. 

1  did  not  merit  such  disdain  from  thee  — 

You.  might  despise  me,  crush  my  heart,  but  never 

Alter  my  love.     Three  times  didst  thou  repulse 

The  prince,  and  thrice  he  came  to  thee  again, 

To  beg  thy  love,  and  force  on  thee  his  own. 

At  length  chance  wrought  what  Carlos  never  could. 

Once  we  were  playing,  when  thy  shuttlecock 

Glanced  off  and  struck  my  aunt,  Bohemia's  queen, 

Full  in  the  face !     She  thought  'twas  with  intent, 

And  all  in  tears  complained  unto  the  king. 

The  palace  youth  were  summoned  on  the  spot, 

And  charged  to  name  the  culprit.     High  in  wrath 

The  king  vowed  vengeance  for  the  deed  :  "  Although 

It  were  his  son,  yet  still  should  he  be  made 

A  dread  example  !  "     I  looked  around  and  marked 

Thee  stand  aloof,  all  trembling  with  dismay. 

Straight  I  stepped  forth ;  before  the  royal  feet 

I  flung  myself,  and  cried,  "'Twas  I  who  did  it; 

Now  let  thine  anger  fall  upon  thy  son ! " 

MARQUIS. 
Ah,  wherefore,  prince,  remind  me? 

CARLOS. 

Hear  me  further ! 

Before  the  face  of  the  assembled  court, 
That  stood,  all  pale  with  pity,  round  about, 
Thy  Carlos  was  tied  up,  whipped  like  a  slave  ; 
I  looked  on  thee,  and  wept  not.     Blow  rained  on  blow  ; 
I  gnashed  my  teeth  with  pain,  yet  wept  I  not ! 
My  royal  blood  streamed  'neath  the  pitiless  lash ; 
I  looked  on  thee,  and  wept  not.    Then  you  came, 


126  DON   CAKLOS. 

And  fell  half-choked  with  sobs  before  my  feet : 
"  Carlos,"  you  cried,  "  rny  pride  is  overcome ; 
I  will  repay  thee  when  thou  art  a  king." 

MARQUIS  (stretching  forth  his  hand  to  CAKLOS). 
Carlos,  I'll  keep  my  word ;  my  boyhood's  vow 
I  now  as  man  renew.     I  will  repay  thee. 
Some  day,  perchance,  the  hour  may  come 

CAKLOS. 

Now !  now ! 

The  hour  has  come ;  thou  canst  repay  me  all. 
I  have  sore  need  of  love.     A  fearful  secret 
Burns  in  my  breast;  it  must  —  it  must  be  told. 
In  thy  pale  looks  my  death-doom  will  I  read. 
Listen ;  be  petrified  ;  but  answer  not. 
I  love  —  I  love  —  my  mother ! 

MARQUIS. 

O  my  God ! 

CAELOS. 

Nay,  no  forbearance !  sp'are  me  not !   Speak  !  speak  ! 

Proclaim  aloud,  that  on  this  earth's  great  round 

There  is  no  misery  to  compare  with  mine. 

Speak !  speak !  —  I  know  all  —  all  that  thou  canst  say  ! 

The  son  doth  love  his  mother.     All  the  world's 

Established  usages,  the  course  of  nature, 

Rome's  fearful  laws  denounce  my  fatal  passion. 

My  suit  conflicts  with  my  own  father's  rights 

I  feel  it  all,  and  yet  I  love.     This  path 

Leads  on  to  madness,  or  the  scaffold.     I 

Love  without  hope,  love  guiltily,  love  madly, 

With  anguish,  and  with  peril  of  my  life ; 

I  see,  I  see  it  all,  and  yet  I  love. 

MARQUIS. 
The  queen  —  does  she  know  of  your  passion  ? 

CARLOS. 

Could  I 

Reveal  it  to  her?     She  is  Philip's  wife 

She  is  the  queen,  and  this  is  Spanish  ground, 
Watched  by  a  jealous  father,  hemmed  around 


DON  CARLOS.  127 

By  ceremonial  forms,  how,  how  could  I 

Approach  her  unobserved  ?    'Tis  now  eight  months, 

Eight  maddening  months,  since  the  king  summoned  me 

Home  from  my  studies,  since  I  have  been  doomed 

To  look  on  her,  adore  her  day  by  day, 

And  all  the  while  be  silent  as  the  grave ! 

Eight  maddening  months,  Roderigo  ;  think  of  this ! 

This  fire  has  seethed  and  raged  within  my  breast! 

A  thousand,  thousand  times,  the  dread  confession 

Has  mounted  to  my  lips,  yet  evermore 

Shrunk,  like  a  craven,  back  upon  my  heart. 

0  Roderigo !  for  a  few  brief  moments 
Alone  with  her ! 

MARQUIS. 
Ah  !  and  your  father,  prince ! 

CARLOS. 

Unhappy  me  !     Remind  me  not  of  him. 
Tell  me  of  all  the  torturing  pangs  of  conscience, 
But  speak  not,  I  implore  you,  of  my  father ! 

MARQUIS. 
Then  do  you  hate  your  father  ? 

CARLOS. 

No,  oh,  no! 

1  do  not  hate  my  father  ;  but  the  fear 

That  guilty  creatures  feel,  —  a  shuddering  dread, — 
Comes  o'er  me  ever  at  that  terrible  name. 
Am  I  to  blame,  if  slavish  nurture  crushed 
Love's  tender  germ  within  my  youthful  heart? 
Six  years  I'd  numbered,  ere  the  fearful  man, 
They  told  me  was  my  father,  met  mine  eyes. 
One  morning  'twas,  when  with  a  stroke  I  s:i\v  him 
Sign  four  death-warrants.     After  that  I  ne'er 
Beheld  him,  save  when,  for  some  childish  fault, 
I  was  brought  out  for  chastisement.     O  God  ! 
I  feel  my  heart  grow  bitter  at  the  thought. 
Let  us  away !  away  ! 

MARQUIS. 

Nay,  Carlos,  nay, 

You  must,  you  shall  give  all  your  sorrow  vent, 
Let  it  have  words  !  'twill  ease  your  o'erfraught  heart. 


128  DON   CAELOS. 

CARLOS. 

Oft  have  I  struggled  with  myself,  and  oft 
At  midnight,  when  my  guards  were  sunk  in  sleep, 
With  floods  of  burning  tears  I've  sunk  before 
The  image  of  the  ever-blessed  Virgin,  _ 
And  craved  a  filial  heart,  but  all  in  vain. 
I  rose  with  prayer  unheard.     O  Roderigo ! 
Unfold  this  wondrous  mystery  of  heaven, 
Why  of  a  thousand  fathers  only  this 
Should  fall  to  me  —  and  why  to  him  this  son, 
Ox  many  thousand  better?     Nature  could  not 
In  her  wide  orb  have  found  two  opposites 
More  diverse  in  their  elements.     How  could 
She  bind  the  two  extremes  of  human  kind  — 
Myself  and  him  —  in  one  so  holy  bond? 

0  dreadful  fate  !     Why  was  it  so  decreed  ? 
Why  should  two  men,  in  all  things  else  apart, 
Concur  so  fearfully  in  one  desire  ? 
Roderigo,  here  thou  seest  two  hostile  stars, 
That  in  the  lapse  of  ages,  only  once, 

As  they  sweep  onwards  in  their  orbed  course, 
Touch  with  a  crash  that  shakes  them  to  the  centre. 
Then  rush  apart  forever  and  forever. 

MARQUIS. 

1  feel  a  dire  foreboding. 

CARLOS. 

So  do  I. 

Like  hell's  grim  furies,  dreams  of  dreadful  shape 
Pursue  me  still.     My  better  genius  strives 
With  the  fell  projects  of  a  dark  despair. 
My  wildered  subtle  spirit  crawls  through  maze 
On  maze  of  sophistries,  until  at  length 
It  gains  a  yawning  precipice's  brink. 
O  Roderigo  !  should  I  e'er  in  him 
Forget  the  father  —  ah  !  thy  deathlike  look 
Tells  me  I'm  understood  —  should  I  forget 
The  father  —  what  were  then  the  king  to  me? 

MARQUIS  (after  a  pause). 
One  thing,  my  Carlos,  let  me  beg  of  you ! 


DON    CAIiLOS.  129 

Wliate'er  may  be  your  plans,  do  nothing,  —  nothing, — 
Without  your  friend's  advice.     You  promise  this  ? 

CARLOS. 

All,  all  I  promise  that  thy  love  can  ask ! 
I  throw  myself  entirely  upon  thee  ! 

MARQUIS. 

The  king,  I  hear,  is  going  to  Madrid. 
The  time  is  short.     If  with  the  queen  you  would 
Converse  in  private,  it  is  only  here, 
Here  in  Aranjuez,  it  can  be  done. 
The  quiet  of  the  place,  the  freer  manners, 
All  favor  you. 

CARLOS. 

And  such,  too,  was  my  hope ; 
But  it,  alas !  was  vain. 

MARQUIS. 

Not  wholly  so. 

I  go  to  wait  upon  her.     If  she  be 
The  same  in  Spain  she  was  in  Henry's  court, 
She  will  be  frank  at  least.     And  if  I  can 
Read  any  hope  for  Carlos  in  her  looks  — 
Find  her  inclined  to  grant  an  interview  — 
Get  her  attendant  ladies  sent  away 

CARLOS. 

Most  of  them  are  my  friends  —  especially 
The  Countess  Mondecar,  whom  I  have  gained 
By  service  to  her  son,  my  page. 

MARQUIS. 

Tis  well ; 

Be  you  at  hand,  and  ready  to  appear, 
Whene'er  I  give  the  signal,  prince. 

CARLOS. 

I  will,— 
Be  sure  I  will :  —  and  all  good  speed  attend  thee  ! 

MARQUIS. 
I  will  not  lose  a  moment ;  so,  farewell. 

[JZceunt  severally. 


130  DON    CARLOS. 

SCENE   III. 

The  Queen's    Residence  in  Aranjuez.      The  Pleasure   Grounds, 
intersected  by  an  avenue,  terminated  by  the  Queen's  Palace. 

The  QUEEN,  DUCHESS  OF  OLIVAREZ,  PRINCESS  OF  EBOLI, 
and  MARCHIONESS  OF  MONDECAR,  all  advancing  from 
(he  avenue.  - 

QUEEN  (to  the  MARCHIONESS). 

I  will  have  you  beside  me,  Mondecar. 

The  princess,  with  these  merry  eyes  of  hers, 

Has  plagued  me  all  the  morning.     See,  she  scare* 

Can  hide  the  joy  she  feels  to  leave  the  country. 

EBOLI. 

'Twere  idle  to  conceal,  my  queen,  that  I 
Shall  be  most  glad  to  see  Madrid  once  more. 

MONDECAR. 

And  will  your  majesty  not  be  so,  too? 
Are  you  so  grieved  to  quit  Aranjuez? 

QUEEN. 

To  quit  —  this  lovely  spot  at  least  I  am. 
This  is  my  world.     Its  sweetness  oft  and  oft 
Has  twined  itself  around  my  inmost  heart. 
Here,  nature,  simple,  rustic  nature  greets  me, 
The  sweet  companion  of  my  early  years  — 
Here  I  indulge  once  more  my  childhood's  sports, 
And  my  dear  France's  gales  come  blowing  here. 
Blame  not  this  partial  fondness  —  all  hearts  yearn 
For  their  own  native  land. 

EBOLI. 

But  then  how  lone, 

How  dull  and  lifeless  it  is  here!     We  might 
As  well  be  in  La  Trappe. 

QUEEN. 

I  cannot  see  it. 

To  me  Madrid  alone  is  lifeless.     But 
What  saith  our  duchess  to  it  ? 


DON    CARLOS.  131 

OLIVAREZ. 


Why, 

Your  majesty,  since  kings  have  ruled  in  Spain, 
It  hath  been  still  the  custom  for  the  court 
To  pass  the  summer  months  alternately 
Here  and  at  Pardo,  —  in  Madrid,  the  winter. 

QUEEN. 

Well,  I  suppose  it  has  !     Duchess,  you  know 
I've  long  resigned  all  argument  with  you. 

MONDECAR. 

Next  month  Madrid  will  be  all  life  and  bustle. 
They're  fitting  up  the  Plaza  Mayor  now, 
And  we  shall  have  rare  bull-fights  ;  and,  besides, 
A  grand  auto  da  fe  is  promised  us. 

QUEEN. 
Promised  ?    This  from  my  gentle  Mondecar  ! 

MONDECAR. 

Why  not?     'Tis  only  heretics  they  burn  ! 

QUEEN. 
I  hope  my  Eboli  thinks  otherwise  ! 

EBOLI. 

What,  I  ?    I  beg  your  majesty  may  think  me 
As  good  a  Christian  as  the  marchioness. 

QUEEN. 

Alas  !  I  had  forgotten  where  I  am,  — 
No  more  of  this  !     We  were  speaking,  I  think, 
About  the  country  ?     And  methinks  this  montb 
Has  flown  away  with  strange  rapidity. 
I  counted  on  much  pleasure,  very  much, 
From  our  retirement  here,  and  yet  I  have  not 
Found  that  which  I  expected.     Is  it  thus 
With  all  our  hopes  ?    And  yet  I  cannot  say 
One  wish  of  mine  is  left  ungratified. 

OLIVAREZ. 

You  have  not  told  us,  Princess  Eboli, 
If  there  be  hope  for  Gomez,  —  and  if  we  may 
Expect  ere  long  to  greet  you  as  his  bride  ? 


132  DON    CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

True  —  thank  you,  duchess,  for  reminding  me! 

[Addressing  the  PRINCESS. 
I  have  been  asked  to  urge  his  suit  with  you. 
But  can  I  do  it  ?    The  man  whom  I  reward 
With  my  sweet  Eboli  must  be  a  man 
Of  noble  stamp  indeed. 

OLIVABEZ. 

And  such  he  is, 

A  man  of  mark  and  fairest  fame,  —  a  man 
Whom  our  dear  monarch  signally  has  graced 
With  his  most  royal  favor. 

QUEEN. 

He's  happy  in 

Such  high  good  fortune ;  but  we  fain  would  know, 
If  he  can  love,  and  win  return  of  love. 
This  Eboli  must  answer. 

EBOLI  (stands  speechless  and  confused,  her  eyes  bent  on 
the  ground;  at  last  she  falls  at  the  QUEEN'S  feet). 

Gracious  queen ! 

Have  pity  on  me !     Let  me  —  let  me  not,  — 
For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  not  be  sacrificed. 

QUEEN. 

Be  sacrificed !  I  need  no  more.     Arise ! 
'Tis  a  hard  fortune  to  be  sacrificed. 
I  <!<>  believe  you.     Rise.     And  is  it  long 
Since  you  rejected  Gomez'  suit  ? 

EBOLI. 

Some  months  — 
Before  Prince  Carlos  came  from  Alcala. 

QUEEN  (starts  and  looks  at  her  with  an  inquisitive  glance). 
Have  you  tried  well  the  grounds  of  your  refusal  ? 

EBOLI  (with  energy). 

It  cannot  be,  my  queen,  no,  never,  never,  — 
For  a  thousand  reasons,  never  ! 


DON   CARLOS.  133 

QUEEN. 

One's  enough, 

You  do  not  love  him.    That  suffices  me. 
Now  let  it  pass.  [  To  her  other  ladies. 

I  have  not  seen  the  Infanta 
Yet  this  morning.     Pray  bring  her,  marchioness. 

OLIVABEZ  (looking  at  the  clock). 
It  is  not  yet  the  hour,  your  majesty. 

QUEEN. 

Not  yet  the  hour  for  me  to  be  a  mother ! 

That's  somewhat  hard.     Forget  not,  then,  to  tell  me 

When  the  right  hour  does  come. 

\_Apage  enters  and  whispers  to  the  first  lady,  who 
thereupon  turns  to  the  QUEEN. 

OLIVAREZ. 

The  Marquis  Posa! 
May  it  please  your  majesty. 

QUEEN. 

The  Marquis  Posa ! 
OLIVAREZ. 

He  comes  from  France,  and  from  the  Netherlands, 
And  craves  the  honor  to  present  some  letters 
Intrusted  to  him  by  your  royal  mother. 

QUEEN. 
Is  this  allowed  ? 

OLIVAREZ  (hesitating). 
A  case  so  unforeseen 
Is  not  provided  for  in  my  instructions. 
When  a  Castilian  grandee,  with  despatches 
From  foreign  courts,  shall  in  her  garden  find 
The  Queen  of  Spain,  and  tender  them 

QUEEN. 

Enough ! 
I'll  venture,  then,  on  mine  own  proper  peril. 

OLIVAREZ. 
May  I,  your  majesty,  withdraw  the  while? 


134  DON   CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

E'en  as  you  please,  good  duchess ! 

{Exit  the  DUCHESS,  the  QUEEN  gives  the  PAGE  a 
sign,  who  thereupon  retires. 

SCENE  IV. 

The  QUEEN,  PRINCESS  EBOLI,  MARCHIONESS  OF  MONDI:- 
CAR,  and  MARQUIS  OF  POSA. 

QUEEN. 
I  bid  you  welcome,  sir,  to  Spanish  ground  ! 

MARQUIS. 

Ground  which  I  never  with  so  just  a  pride 
Hailed  for  the  country  of  my  sires  as  now. 

QUEEN  (to  the  two  ladies). 

The  Marquis  Posa,  ladies,  who  at  Rheims 
Coped  with  my  father  in  the  lists,  and  made 
My  colors  thrice  victorious;  the  first 
That  made  me  feel  how  proud  a  tiling  it  was 
To  be  the  Queen  of  Spain  and  Spanish  men. 

[  Turning  to  the  MARQUIS. 
When  we  last  parted  in  the  Louvre,  sir, 
You  scarcely  dreamed  that  I  should  ever  be 
Your  hostess  in  Castile. 

MARQUIS. 

Most  true,  my  liege ! 

For  at  that  time  I  never  could  have  dreamed 
That  France  should  lose  to  us  the  only  thing 
We  envied  her  possessing. 

QUEEN. 

How,  proud  Spaniard ! 

The  only  thing !     And  you  can  venture  this  — 
This  to  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Valois ! 

MARQUIS. 

I  venture  now  to  say  it,  gracious  queen, 
Since  now  you  are  our  own. 


DON   CARLOS.  135 

QUEEN. 

Your  journey  hither 

lias  led  you,  as  I  hear,  through  France.  What  news 
Have  you  brought  with  you  from  my  honored  mother 
And  from  my  dearest  brothers? 

MARQUIS  (handing  letters). 
I  left  your  royal  mother  sick  at  heart, 
Bereft  of  every  joy  save  only  this, 
To  know  her  daughter  happy  on  the  throne 
Of  our  imperial  Spain. 

QUEEN. 

Could  she  be  aught 
But  happy  in  the  dear  remembrances 
Of  relatives  so  kind  —  in  the  sweet  thoughts 

Of  the  old  time  when Sir,  you've  visited 

Full  many  a  court  in  these  your  various  travels, 
And  seen  strange  lands  and  customs  manifold; 
And  now,  they  say,  you  mean  to  keep  at  home 
A  greater  prince  in  your  retired  domain 
Than  is  King  Philip  on  his  throne  —  a  freer. 
You're  a  philosopher ;  but  much  I  doubt 
If  our  Madrid  will  please  you.     We  are  so  — 
So  quiet  in  Madrid. 

MARQUIS. 

And  that  is  more 
Than  all  the  rest  of  Europe  has  to  boast. 

QUEEN. 

I've  heard  as  much.     But  all  this  world's  concerns 
Are  well-nigh  blotted  from  my  memory. 

[  To  PRINCESS  EBOLI. 
Princess,  methinks  I  see  a  hyacinth 
Yonder  in  bloom.     Wilt  bring  it  to  me,  sweet? 

[The  PRINCESS  goes  towards  the  palace,  the  QUEEN 

softly  to  the  MARQUIS. 
I'm  much  mistaken,  sir,  or  your  arrival 
Has  made  one  heart  more  happy  here  at  court. 

MARQUIS. 

I  have  found  a  sad  one  —  one  that  in  this  world 
A  rav  of  sunshine 


136  DON    CARLOS. 

EBOLI. 

As  this  gentleman 

Has  seen  so  many  countries,  he,  no  doubt, 
Has  much  of  note  to  tell  us. 

MARQUIS. 

Doubtless,  and 

To  seek  adventures  is  a  knight's  first  duty  — 
But  his  most  sacred  is  to  shield  the  fair. 

MONDECAB. 

From  giants  !     But  there  are  no  giants  now ! 

MARQUIS. 
Power  is  a  giant  ever  to  the  weak. 

QUEEN. 

The  chevalier  says  well.     There  still  are  giants; 
But  there  are  knights  no  more. 

MARQUIS. 

Not  long  ago, 

On  my  return  from  Naples,  I  became 
The  witness  of  a  very  touching  story, 
Which  ties  of  friendship  almost  make  my  own 
Were  I  not  fearful  its  recital  might 
Fatigue  your  majesty 

QUEEN. 

Have  I  a  choice  ? 

The  princess  is  not  to  be  lightly  balked. 
Proceed.     I  too,  sir,  love  a  story  dearly. 

MARQUIS. 

Two  noble  houses  in  Mirandola, 
Weary  of  jealousies  and  deadly  feuds, 
Transmitted  down  from  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines, 
Through  centuries  of  hate,  from  sire  to  son, 
Resolved  to  ratify  a  lasting  peace 
By  the  sweet  ministry  of  nuptial  ties. 
Fernando,  nephew  of  the  great  Pietro, 
And  fair  Matilda,  old  Colonna's  child, 
Were  chosen  to  cement  this  holy  bond. 


DON   CARLOS.  137 

Nature  had  never  for  each  other  formed 
Two  fairer  hearts.     And  never  had  the  world 
Approved  a  wiser  or  a  happier  choice. 
Still  had  the  youth  adored  his  lovely  bride 
In  the  dull  limner's  portraiture  alone. 
How  thrilled  his  heart,  then,  in  the  hope  to  find 
The  truth  of  all  that  e'en  his  fondest  dreams 
Had  scarcely  dared  to  credit  in  her  picture  ! 
In  Padua,  where  his  studies  held  him  bound; 
Fernando  panted  for  the  joyful  hour, 
When  he  might  murmur  :it  Matilda's  feet 
The  first  pure  homage  of  his  fervent  love. 

[The  QUEEX  grows  more  attentive;  the  MAPQUIS 

continues,  after  a  short  pause,  addressing 

self  chiefly  to  PRINCESS  EBOLI. 
Meanwhile  the  sudden  death  of  Pietro's  wife 
Had  left  him  free  to  wed.     With  the  hot  glow 
Of  youthful  blood  the  hoary  lover  drinks 
The  fame  that  reached  him  of  Matilda's  charms. 
He  comes  —  he  sees  —  he  loves !     The  new  desire 
Stifles  the  voice  of  nature  in  his  heart. 
The  uncle  woos  his  nephew's  destined  bride, 
And  at  the  altar  consecrates  his  theft. 

QUEEN. 
And  what  did  then  Fernando  ? 

MARQUIS. 

On  the  wings 

Of  love,  unconscious  of  the  fearful  change, 
Delirious  with  the  promised  joy,  he  speeds 
Back  to  Mirandola.     His  flying  steed 
By  starlight  gains  the  gate.     Tumultuous  sounds 
Of  music,  dance,  and  jocund  revelry 
King  from  the  walls  of  the  illumined  palace. 
With  faltering  stops  he  mounts  the  stair;  and 
Behold  him  in  the  crowded  nuptial  hall, 
Unrecognized  !     Amid  the  reeling  guests 
Pietro  sat.     An  angel  at  his  side  — 
An  angel,  whom  he  knows,  and  who  to  him 
Even  in  his  dreams,  seemed  ne'er  so  beautiful. 


138  DON    CARLOS. 

A  single  glance  revealed  what  once  was  his  — 
Revealed  what  now  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

EBOLI. 

0  poor  Fernando  ! 

QUEEN. 

Surely,  sir,  your  tale 
Is  ended  ?    Nay,  it  must  be. 

MARQUIS. 

No,  not  quite. 

QUEEN. 

Did  you  not  say  Fernando  was  your  friend  ? 

MARQUIS. 

1  have  no  dearer  in  the  world. 

EBOLI. 

But  pray 
Proceed,  sir,  with  your  story. 

MARQUIS. 

Nay,  the  rest 

Is  very  sad  —  and  to  recall  it  sets 
My  sorrow  fresh  abroach.     Spare  me  the  sequel. 

\_A  general  silence. 

QUEEN  (turning  to  the  PRINCESS  EBOLI). 
Surely  the  time  is  come  to  see  my  daughter, 
I  prithee,  princess,  bring  her  to  me  now ! 

[  The  PRINCESS  withdraws.  The  MARQUIS  beckons  a 
Page.  The  QUEEN  opens  the  letters,  and  appears 
surprised.  The  MARQUIS  talks  with  MARCHIONESS 
MONDECAR.  The  QUEEN  having  read  the  letters, 
turns  to  the  MARQUIS  with  a  penetrating  look. 

QUEEN. 

You  have  not  spoken  of  Matilda !     She 
Haply  was  ignorant  of  Fernando's  grief  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Matilda's  heart  has  no  one  fathomed  yet  — 
Great  souls  endure  in  silence. 


DON   CARLOS.  139 

QUEEN. 

You  look  around  you.     Who  is  it  you  seek  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Just  then  the  thought  came  over  me,  how  one, 
Whose  name  I  dare  not  mention,  would  rejoice 
Stood  he  where  I  do  now. 

QUEEN. 

And  who's  to  blame, 
That  he  does  not  ? 

MAKQUIS  (interrupting  her  eagerly). 

My  liege  !    And  dare  I  venture 
To  interpret  thee,  as  fain  I  would  ?     He'd  find 
Forgiveness,  then,  if  now  he  should  appear. 

QUEEN  (alarmed). 
Now,  marquis,  now  ?     What  do  you  mean  by  this  ? 

MARQUIS. 
Might  he,  then,  hope  ? 

QUEEN. 

You  terrify  me,  marquis. 

Surely  he  will  not 

MARQUIS. 
He  is  here  already. 

SCENE  V. 

The  QUEEN,  CARLOS,  MARQUIS  POSA,  MARCHIONESS  MON- 
DECAR.     The  two  latter  go  towards  the  avenue. 

CARLOS  (on  his  knees  before  the  QUEEN). 

At  length  'tis  come  —  the  happy  moment's  come, 
And  Charles  may  touch  this  all-beloved  hand. 

QUEEN. 

What  headlong  folly's  this?     And  dare  you  break 
Into  my  presence  thus?     Arise,  rash  man! 
We  are  observed ;  my  suite  are  close  at  hand. 


140  DON    CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

I  will  not  rise.     Here  will  I  kneel  forever, 

Here  will  I  lie  enchanted  at  your  feet, 

And  grow  to  the  dear  ground  you  tread  on  ? 

QUEEN. 

Madman 

To  what  rude  boldness  my  indulgence  leads ! 
Know  you,  it  is  the  queen,  your  mother,  sir, 
Whom  you  address  in  such  presumptuous  strain  ? 
Know,  that  myself  will  to  the  king  report 
This  bold  intrusion 

CARLOS. 

And  that  I  must  die ! 

Let  them  come  here,  and  drag  me  to  the  scaffold  f 
A  moment  spent  in  paradise  like  this 
Is  not  too  dearly  purchased  by  a  life. 

QUEEN. 
But  then  your  queen  ? 

CARLOS  (rising). 

OGod,  I'll  go,  I'll  go! 
Can  I  refuse  to  bend  to  that  appeal  ? 
I  am  your  very  plaything.     Mother,  mother, 
A  sign,  a  transient  glance,  one  broken  word 
From  those  dear  lips  can  bid  me  live  or  die. 
What  would  you  more  ?     Is  there  beneath  the  sun 
One  thing  I  would  not  haste  to  sacrifice 
To  meet  your  lightest  wish  ? 

QUEEN. 

Then  fly ! 

CARLOS. 

God! 

QUEEN. 

With  tears  I  do  conjure  you,  Carlos,  fly  ! 
I  ask  no  more.     O  fly  !  before  my  court, 
My  guards,  detecting  us  alone  together, 
Bear  the  dread  tidings  to  vour  father's  ear. 


DON   CARLOS.  141 

CARLOS. 

I  bide  my  doom,  or  be  it  life  or  death. 
Have  I  staked  every  hope  on  this  one  moment, 
Which  gives  thee  to  me  thus  at  length  alone, 
That  idle  fears  should  balk  me  of  my  purpose? 
No,  queen  !     The  world  may  round  its  axis  roll 
A  hundred  thousand  times,  ere  chance  again 
Yield  to  my  prayers  a  moment  such  as  this. 

QUEEN. 

It  never  shall  to  all  eternity. 
Unhappy  man !     What  would  you  ask  of  me  ? 

CARLOS. 

Heaven  is  my  witness,  queen,  how  I  have  struggled, 
Struggled  as  mortal  never  did  before, 
But  all  in  vain !     My  manhood  fails —  I  yield. 

QUEEN. 
No  more  of  this  —  for  my  sake  —  for  my  peace. 

CARLOS. 

You  were  mine  own,  —  in  face  of  all  the  world,  — 
Affianced  to  me  by  two  mighty  crowns, 
By  heaven  and  nature  plighted  as  my  bride, 
But  Philip,  cruel  Philip,  stole  you  from  me 

QUEEN. 
He  is  your  father  ? 

CARLOS. 
And  he  is  your  husband  ! 

QUEEN. 

And  gives  to  you  for  an  inheritance, 
The  mightiest  monarchy  in  all  the  world 

CARLOS. 
And  you,  as  mother ! 

QUEEN. 

Mighty  heavens !    You  rave ! 

CARLOS. 

And  is  he  even  conscious  of  his  treasure? 
Hath  he  a  heart  to  feel  and  value  yours? 


142  DON   CARLOS. 

I'll  not  complain  —  no,  no,  I  will  forget, 
How  happy,  past  all  utterance,  I  might 
Have  been  with  you,  —  if  he  were  only  so. 
But  he  is  not  —  there,  there,  the  anguish  lies! 
He  is  not,  and  he  never  —  never  can  be. 
Oh,  you  have  robbed  me  of  my  paradise, 
Only  to  blast  it  in  King  Philip's  arms ! 

QUEEN. 
Horrible  thought! 

CARLOS. 

Oh,  yes,  right  well  I  know 

Who  'twas  that  knit  this  ill-starred  marriage  up. 
I  know  how  Philip  loves,  and  how  he  wooed. 
What  are  you  in  this  kingdom  —  tell  me,  what? 
Regent,  belike  !     Oh,  no  !     If  such  you  were, 
How  could  fell  Alvas  act  their  murderous  deeds, 
Or  Flanders  bleed  a  martyr  for  her  faith? 
Are  you  even  Philip's  wife  ?     Impossible, — 
Beyond  belief.     A  wife  doth  still  possess 
Her  husband's  heart.     To  whom  doth  his  belong? 
If  ever,  perchance,  in  some  hot  feverish  mood, 
He  yields  to  gentler  impulse,  begs  he  not 
Forgiveness  of  his  sceptre  and  gray  hairs  ? 

QUEEN. 

Who  told  you  that  my  lot,  at  Philip's  side 
Was  one  for  men  to  pity  ? 

CARLOS. 

My  own  heart ! 

Which  feels,  with  burning  pangs,  how  at  my  side 
It  had  been  to  be  envied. 

QUEEN. 

Thou  vain  man ! 

What  if  my  heart  should  tell  me  the  reverse  ? 
How,  sir,  if  Philip's  watchful  tenderness, 
The  looks  that  silently  proclaim  his  love, 
Touched  me  more  deeply  than  his  haughty  son's 
Presumptuous  eloquence  ?     What,  if  an  old  man's 
Matured  esteem 


DON    CARLOS.  143 

CARLOS. 

That  makes  a  difference  !     Then, 
Why  then,  forgiveness  !  —  I'd  no  thought  of  this  ; 
I  had  no  thought  that  you  could  love  the  king. 

QUEEN. 
To  honor  him's  my  pleasure  and  my  wish. 

CARLOS. 
Then  you  have  never  loved  ? 

QUEEN. 

Singular  question ! 
CARLOS. 
Then  you  have  never  loved  ? 

QUEEN. 

I  love  no  longer ! 

CARLOS. 
Because  your  heart  forbids  it,  or  your  oath  ? 

"  QUEEN. 
Leave  me ;  nor  never  touch  this  theme  again. 

CARLOS. 
Because  your  oath  forbids  it,  or  your  heart  ? 

QUEEN. 

Because  my  duty  —  but,  alas,  alas  ! 
To  what  avails  this  scrutiny  of  fate, 
Which  we  must  both  obey  ? 

CARLOS. 

Must  —  must  obey? 

QUEEN. 

What  means  this  solemn  tone  ? 

CARLOS. 

Thus  much  it  means : 
That  Carlos  is  not  one  to  yield  to  must 
Where  he  hath  power  to  will !     It  means,  besides, 
That  Carlos  is  not  minded  to  live  on, 


144  DON    CARLOS. 

The  most  unhappy  man  in  all  his  realm, 
When  it  would  only  cost  the  overthrow 
Of  Spanish  laws  to  be  the  happiest. 

QUEEN. 

Do  I  interpret  rightly  ?     Still  you  hope  ? 
Dare  you  hope  on,  when  all  is  lost  forever  ? 

CARLOS. 
I  look  on  naught  as  lost —  except  the  dead. 

QUEEN. 

For  me  —  your  mother,  do  you  dare  to  hope  ? 

[She  fixes  a  penetrating  look  on  him,  then  continues 

with  dignity  and  earnestness. 
And  yet  why  not  ?     A  new  elected  monarch 
Can  do  far  more  —  make  bonfires  of  the  laws 
His  father  left  — o'erthrow  his  monuments  — 
Nay,  more  than  this  —  for  what  shall  hinder  him  ?  — 
Drag  from  his  tomb,  in  the  Escurial, 
The  sacred  corpse  of  his  departed  sire, 
Make  it  a  public  spectacle,  and  scatter 
Forth  to  the  winds  his  desecrated  dust. 
And  then,  at  last,  to  fill  the  measure  up, 

CARLOS 
Merciful  heavens,  finish  not  the  picture ! 

QUEEN. 
End  all  by  wedding  with  his  mother. 

CARLOS. 

Oh! 
Accursed  son! 

[He  remains  for  some  time  paralyzed  and  speech- 
less. 

Yes,  now  'tis  out,  'tis  out ! 
I  see  it  clear  as  day.     Oh,' would  it  had 
Been  veiled  from  me  in  everlasting  darkness ! 
Yes,  thou  art  gone  from  me  —  gone —  gone  forever. 
The  die  is  cast;  and  thou  art  lost  to  me. 
Oh,  in  that  thought  lies  hell  ;  and  a  hell,  too, 
Lies  in  the  other  thought,  to  call  thee  mine. 


DON    CARLOS.  145 

Oh,  misery !  I  can  bear  my  fate  no  longer, 

My  .very  heart-strings  strain  as  they  would  burst. 

QUEEN. 

Alas,  alas  !  dear  Charles,  I  feel  it  all, 

The  nameless  pang  that  rages  in  your  breast ; 

Your  pangs  are  infinite,  as  is  your  love, 

And  infinite  as  both  will  be  the  glory 

Of  overmastering  both.     Up,  be  a  man, 

Wrestle  with  them  boldly.     The  prize  is  worthy 

Of  a  young  warrior's  high,  heroic  heart; 

Worthy  of  him  in  whom  the  virtues  flow 

Of  a  long  ancestry  of  mighty  kings. 

Courage  !  my  noble  prince  !     Great  Charles's  grandson 

Begins  the  contest  with  undaunted  heart, 

Where  sons  of  meaner  men  would  yield  at  once. 

CARLOS. 
Too  late,  too  late !     O  God,  it  is  too  late ! 

QUEEN. 

Too  late  to  be  a  man  !     O  Carlos,  Carlos ! 
How  nobly  shows  our  virtue  when  the  heart 
Breaks  in  its  exercise  !     The  hand  of  Heaven 
Has  set  you  up  on  high,  —  far  higher,  prince, 
Than  millions  of  your  brethren.     All  she  took 
From  others  she  bestowed  with  partial  hand 
On  thee,  her  favorite  ;  and  millions  ask, 
What  was  your  merit,  thus  before^your  birth 
To  be  endowed  so  far  above  mankind  ? 
Up,  then,  and  justify  the  ways  of  Heaven; 
Deserve  to  take  the  lead  of  all  the  world, 
And  make  a  sacrifice  ne'er  made  before. 

CARLOS. 

I  will,  I  will ;  I  have  a  giant's  strength 
To  win  your  favor ;  but  to  lose  you,  none. 

QUEEN. 

Confess,  my  Carlos,  I  have  harshly  read  thee; 
It  is  but  spleen,  and  waywardness,  and  pride, 
Attract  you  thus  so  madly  to  your  mother! 


146  DON    CARLOS. 

The  heart  you  lavish  on  myself  belongs 

To  the  great  empire  you  one  day  shall  rule. 

Look  that  you  sport  not  with  your  sacred  trust ! 

Love  is  your  high  vocation ;  until  now 

It  hath  been  wrongly  bent  upon  your  mother: 

Oh,  lead  it  back  upon  your  future  realms, 

And  so,  instead  of  the  fell  swings  of  conscience, 

Enjoy  the  bliss  of  being  more  than  man. 

Elizabeth  has  been  your  earliest  love, 

Your  second  must  be  Spain.     How  gladly,  Carlos, 

Will  I  give  place  to  this  more  worthy  choice ! 

CARLOS  (overpowered by  emotion,  throws  himself  ather feet.) 
How  great  thou  art,  my  angel !     Yes,  I'll  do 
All,  all  thou  canst  desire.     So  let  it  be. 

\_He  rises. 

Here  in  the  sight  of  heaven  I  stand  and  swear — 
I  swear  to  thee,  eternal  —  no,  great  Heaven !  — 
Eternal  silence  only,  —  not  oblivion ! 

QUEEN. 

How  can  I  ask  from  you  what  I  myself 
Am  not  disposed  to  grant  ? 

MARQUIS  {hastening  from  the  alley). 
The  king ! 

QUEEN. 

Oh  God ! 

MARQUIS. 

Away,  away !  fly  from  these  precincts,  prince ! 

QUEEN. 
His  jealousy  is  dreadful  —  should  he  see  you 

CARLOS. 
I'll  stay. 

QUEEN. 

And  who  will  be  the  victim  then  ? 
CARLOS  (seizing  the  MARQUIS  by  the  arm). 
Away,  away  !     Come,  Roderigo,  come ! 

[  Goes  and  returns. 
What  may  I  hope  to  carry  hence  with  me  ? 


DON   CARLOS.  147 

QUEEN. 

Your  mother's  friendship. 

CARLOS. 

Friendship !    Mother ! 

QUEEN. 

And 
These  tears  with  it  —  they're  from  the  Netherlands. 

[She  gives  him  some  letters.  Exit  CARLOS  with  the 
MARQUIS.  The  QUEEN  looks  restlessly  round  in 
search  of  her  ladies,  who  are  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
As  she  is  about  to  retire  up,  the  KING  enters. 

SCENE  VI. 

The  KING,  the  QUEEN,  DUKE  ALVA,  COUNT  LEKMA, 
DOMINGO,  LADIES,  GRANDEES,  who  remain  at  a  little 
distance. 

KING. 

How,  madam,  alone ;  not  even  one  of  all 

Your  ladies  in  attendance  ?    Strange !    Where  are  they? 

QUEEN. 
My  gracious  lord ! 

KING. 
Why  thus  alone,  I  say  ? 

[  To  his  attendants. 

I'll  take  a  strict  account  of  this  neglect. 
'Tis  not  to  be  forgiven.     Who  has  the  charge 
Of  waiting  on  your  majesty  to-day  ? 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  be  not  angry !  Good,  my  lord,  'tis  I 
Myself  that  am  to  blame —  at  my  request 
The  Princess  Eboli  went  hence  but  now. 

KING. 

At  your  request ! 

QUEEN. 

To  call  the  nurse  to  me, 
With  the  Infanta,  whom  I  longed  to  see. 


148  DON   CARLOS. 

KING. 

And  was  your  retinue  dismissed  for  that  ? 
This  only  clears  the  lady  first  in  waiting. 
Where  was  the  second  ? 

MONDEOAR  (who  has  returned  and  mixed  with  the  other 
ladies,  steps  forward). 

Your  majesty,  I  feel 
I  am  to  blame  for  this. 

KING. 

You  are,  and  so 

I  give  you  ten  years  to  reflect  upon  it, 
At  a  most  tranquil  distance  from  Madrid. 

[The  MARCHIONESS  steps  back  weeping.  General 
silence.  The  bystanders  all  look  in  confusion  to- 
wards the  QUEEN. 

QUEEN. 

What  weep  you  for,  dear  marchioness?       \To  the  KING. 

If  I 

Have  erred,  my  gracious  liege,  the  crown  I  wear, 
And  which  I  never  sought,  should  save  my  blushes 
Is  there  a  law  in  this  your  kingdom,  sire, 
To  summon  monarch's  daughters  to  the  bar? 
Does  force  alone  restrain  your  Spanish  ladies? 
Or  need  they  stronger  safeguard  than  their  virtue  ? 
Now  pardon  me,  my  liege ;  'tis  not  my  wont 
To  send  my  ladies,  who  have  served  me  still 
With  smiling  cheerfulness,  away  in  tears. 
Here,  Mondecar. 

[/SJie  takes  off  her  girdle  and  presents  it  to  the  MAR- 
CHIONESS. 

You  have  displeased  the  king, 
Not  me.     Take  this  remembrance  of  my  favor, 
Arid  of  this  hour.     I'd  have  you  quit  the  kingdom. 
You  have  only  erred  in  Spain.     In  my  dear  France, 
All  men  are  glad  to  wipe  such  tears  away. 
And  must  I  ever  be  reminded  thus? 
In  my  dear  France  it  had  been  otherwise. 

[Leaning  on  the  MARCHIONESS  and  covering  her  face. 


DON   CARLOS.  149 

KING. 

Can  a  reproach,  that  in  my  love  had  birth, 
Afflict  you  so  ?    A  word  so  trouble  you, 
Which  the  most  anxious  tenderness  did  prompt  ? 

\_He  turns  towards  the  GRANDEES 
Here  stand  the  assembled  vassals  of  niy  throne. 
Did  ever  sleep  descend  upon  these  eyes, 
Till  at  the  close  of  the  returning  day 
I've  pondered,  how  the  hearts  of  all  my  subjects 
Were  beating  'iieath  the  furthest  cope  of  heaven  ? 
And  should  I  feel  more  anxious  for  my  throne 
Than  for  the  partner  of  my  bosom  ?     No ! 
My  sword  and  Alva  can  protect  my  people, 
My  eye  alone  assures  thy  love. 

QUEEN. 

My  liege, 
If  that  I  have  offended 

KING. 

I  am  called 

The  richest  monarch  in  the  Christian  world ; 
The  sun  in  my  dominions  never  sets. 
All  this  another  hath  possessed  before, 
And  many  another  will  possess  hereafter. 
That  is  mine  own.     All  that  the  monarch  hath 
Belongs  to  chance  —  Elizabeth  to  Philip. 
This  is  the  point  in  which  I  feel  I'm  mortal. 

QUEEN. 

What  fear  you,  sire  ? 

KING. 

Should  these  gray  hairs  not  fear  * 
But  the  same  instant  that  my  fear  begins 
It  dies  away  forever.  [  To  the  grandees. 

I  run  over 

The  nobles  of  my  court  and  miss  the  foremost. 
Where  is  my  son,  Don  Carlos  ?  [No  one  answers, 

He  begins 

To  give  me  cause  of  fear.     He  shuns  my  presence 
Since  he  came  back  from  school  at  Alcala. 
His  blood  is  hot.     Why  is  his  look  so  cold  ? 


150  DON   CARLOS. 

His  bearing  all  so  stately  and  reserved  ? 
Be  watchful,  duke,  I  charge  you. 

ALVA. 

So  I  am : 

Long  as  a  heart  against  this  corslet  beats, 
So  long  may  Philip  slumber  undisturbed ; 
And  as  God's  cherub  guards  the  gates  of  heaven 
So  doth  Duke  Alva  guard  your  royal  throne. 

LEBMA. 

Dare  I,  in  all  humility,  presume 

To  oppose  the  judgment  of  earth's  wisest  king? 

Too  deeply  I  revere  his  gracious  sire 

To  judge  the  son  so  harshly.     I  fear  much 

From  his  hot  blood,  but  nothing  from  his  heart. 

KING. 

Lerma,  your  speech  is  fair  to  soothe  the  father, 
But  Alva  here  will  be  the  monarch's  shield  — 
No  more  of  this. 

[  Turning  to  his  suite. 
Now  speed  we  to  Madrid, 
Our  royal  duties  summon  us.     The  plague 
Of  heresy  is  rife  among  my  people ; 
Rebellion  stalks  within  my  Netherlands  — 
The  times  are  imminent.     We  must  arrest 
These  erring  spirits  by  some  dread  example. 
The  solemn  oath  which  every  Christian  king 
Hath  sworn  to  keep  I  will  redeem  to-morrow. 
'Twill  be  a  day  of  doom  unparalleled. 
Our  court  is  bidden  to  the  festival. 

\He  leads  off  the  QUEEN,  the  restfollmc. 

SCENE  VII. 

DON  CARLOS  (with  letters  in  his  hand),  and  MAEQUIS 
POSA  enter  from  opposite  sides. 

CARLOS. 

I  am  resolved  —  Flanders  shall  yet  be  saved: 
So  runs  her  suit,  and  that's  enough  for  me ! 


DON   CARLOS.  151 

MARQUIS. 

There's  not  another  moment  to  be  lost : 
'Tis  said  Duke  Alva  in  the  cabinet 
Is  named  already  as  the  governor. 

CARLOS. 

Betimes  to-morrow  will  I  see  the  king 
And  ask  this  office  for  myself.     It  is 
The  first  request  I  ever  made  to  him, 
And  he  can  scarce  refuse.     My  presence  here 
Has  long  been  irksome  to  him.     He  will  grasp 
This  fair  pretence  my  absence  to  secure. 
And  shall  I  confess  to  thee,  Roderigo  ? 
My  hopes  go  further.     Face  to  face  with  him, 
'Tis  possible  the  pleading  of  a  son 
May  reinstate  him  in  his  father's  favor. 
He  ne'er  hath  heard  the  voice  of  nature  speak ; 
Then  let  me  try  for  once,  my  Roderigo, 
What  power  she  hath  when  breathing  from  my  lips, 

MARQUIS. 

Now  do  1  hear  my  Carlos'  voice  once  more ; 
Now  are  you  all  yourself  again  ! 

SCENE  VIII. 
The  preceding.     COUNT  LERMA. 

COUNT. 

Your  grace, 
His  majesty  has  left  Aranjuez; 

And  I  am  bidden 

CARLOS. 

Very  well,  my  lord  — 
I  shall  overtake  the  king  — 

MARQUIS  (affecting  to  take  leave  with  ceremony). 

Your  highness,  then, 
Has  nothing  further  to  intrust  to  me  ? 

CARLOS. 

Nothing.     A  pleasant  journey  to  Madrid  ! 
You  may,  hereafter,  tell  me  more  of  Flanders. 

[  To  LERMA,  who  is  icaitingfor  him. 
Proceed,  my  lord !     I'll  follow  thee  anon. 


152  DON   CARLOS. 

SCENE  IX. 
DON  CARLOS,  MARQUIS  POSA. 

CARLOS. 

I  understood  thy  hint,  :md  thank  thee  for  it. 
A  stranger's  presence  can  alone  excuse 
This  forced  and  measured  tone.     Are  we  riot  brother*' 
In  future,  let  this  puppet-play  of   rank 
Be  banished  from  our  friendship.     Think  that  we 
Had  met  at  som?  gay  masking  festival, 
Thou  in  the  habit  of  a  slave,  and  I 
Robed,  for  a  jest,  in  the  imperial  purple. 
Throughout  the  revel  \ve  respect  the  cheat, 
And  pl.iy  our  parts  with  sportive  earnestness, 
Tripping  it  gayly  with  the  merry  throng; 
But  should  thy  Carlos  beckon  through  his  mask, 
Thou'dst  press  his  hand  in  silence  as  he  passed, 
And  we  should  be  as  one. 

MARQUIS. 

The  dream's  divine ! 

But  are  you  sure  that  it  will  last  forever? 
Is  Carlos,  then,  so  certain  of  himself 
As  to  despise  the  charms  of  boundless  sway? 
A  day  will  come —  an  all-important  day  — 
When  this  heroic  mind  —  I  warn  you  now  — 
Will  sink  o'erwhelmed  by  too  severe  a  test. 
Don  Philip  dies;  and  Carlos  mounts  the  throne, 
The  mightiest  throne  in  Christendom.     How  vast 
The  gulp  that  yawns  betwixt  mankind  and  him  — 
A  god  to-day,  who  yesterday  was  man  ! 
Steeled  to  all  human  weakness  —  to  the  voice 
Of  heavenly  duty  deaf.     Humanity  — 
To-day  a  word  of  import  in  his  ear  — 
Barters  itself,  and  grovels  'mid  the  throng 
Of  gaping  parasites;  his  sympathy 
For  human  woe  is  turned  to  cold  neglect, 
His  virtue  sunk  in  loose  voluptuous  joys. 
Peru  supplies  him  riches  for  his  folly, 
His  court  engenders  devils  for  his  vices. 
Lulled  in  this  heaven  the  work  of  crafty  slavey 


DON   CARLOS.  153 

He  sleeps  a  charmed  sleep  ;  and  while  his  dream 
Endures  his  godhead  lasts.     And  woe  to  him 
Who'd  break  in  pity  this  lethargic  trance  ! 
What  could  Roderigo  do?    Friendship  is  true, 
And  bold  as  true.     But  her  bright  flashing  beams 
Were  much  too  tierce  for  sickly  majesty : 
You  would  not  brook  a  subject's  stern  appeal, 
Nor  I  a  monarch's  pride  ! 

CARLOS. 

Tearful  and  true, 

Thy  portraiture  of  monarchs.     Yes  —  thou'rt  right, 
But  'tis  their  lusts  that  thus  corrupt  their  hearts, 
And  hurry  them  to  vice.     I  still  am  pure. 
A  "youth  scarce  numbering  three-and-twenty  years. 
What  thousands  waste  in  riotous  delights, 
Without  remorse  —  the  mind's  more  precious  part  — 
The  bloom  and  strength  of  manhood —  I  have  kept, 
Hoarding  their  treasures  for  the  future  king. 
What  could  unseat  my  Posa  from  my  heart, 
If  woman  fail  to  do  it? 

MARQUIS. 

I,  myself  2 

Say,  could  I  love  you,  Carlos,  warm  as  now, 
If  I  must  fear  you  ? 

•  CARLOS. 

That  will  never  be. 

What  need  hast  thou  of  me?    What  cause  hast  thou 
To  stoop  thy  knee,  a  suppliant  at  the  throne? 
Does  gold  allure  thee?     Thou'rt  a  richer  subject 
Than  I  shall  be  a  king !     Dost  covet  honors  ? 
E'en  in  thy  youth,  fame's  brimming  chalice  stood 
Full  in  thy  grasp  — thou'flung'st  the  toy  away. 
Which  of  us,  then,  must  be  the  other's  debtor, 
And  which  the  creditor?    Thou  standest  mute. 
Dost  tremble  for  the  trial  ?    Art  thou,  then, 
Uncertain  of  thyself  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Caring  ;  yield ! 
Here  is  my  ham* 


154  DON    CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

Is  it  mine  own 

MARQUIS. 

Forever  — 
In  the  most  pi-egnant  meaning  of  the  word! 

CARLOS. 

And  wilt  thou  prove  hereafter  to  the  king 
As  true  and  warm  as  to  the  prince  to-day? 

MARQUIS. 
I  swear ! 

CARLOS. 

And  when  round  my  unguarded  heart 
The  serpent  flattery  winds  its  subtle  coil, 
Should  e'er  these  eyes  of  mine  forget  the  tears 
They  once  were  wont  to  shed  ;  or  should  these  ear. 
Be  closed  to  mercy's  plea,  —  say,  wilt  thou,  then, 
The  fearless  guardian  of  my  virtue,  throw 
Thine  iron  grasp  upon  me,  and  call  up 
My  genius  by  its  mighty  name  ? 

MARQUIS. 

I  will. 

CARLOS. 

And  now  one  other  favor  let  me  beg.  • 

Do  call  me  thou'f    Long  have  I  envied  this 

Dear  privilege  of  friendship  to  thine  equals. 

The  brother's  thou  beguiles  my  ear,  my  heart, 

With  sweet  suggestions  of  equality. 

Nay,  no  reply :  —  I  guess  what  thou  wouldst  say  — 

To  thee  this  seems  a  trifle  —  but  to  me, 

A  monarch's  son,  'tis  much.     Say,  wilt  thou  be 

A  brother  to  me  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Yes  ;  thy  brother,  yes! 

CARLOS. 

Now  to  the  king  —  my  fears  are  at  an  end. 

Thus,  arm-in-arm  with  thee,  I  dare  defy 

The  universal  world  into  the  lists.  [Exeunt, 


DON  CARLOS.  155 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 
The  royal  palace  at  Madrid. 

KING   PHILIP  under  a    canopy ;   DUKE  ALVA  at  some 
distance,  with  his  head  covered ;   CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

The  kingdom  takes  precedence  —  willingly 

Doth  Carlos  to  the  minister  give  place  — 

He  speaks  for  Spain  ;  I  am  but  of  the  household. 

\_Hoics  and  steps  backward 

KING. 

The  duke  remains  —  the  Infanta  may  proceed. 

CARLOS  (turning  to  ALVA). 
Then  must  I  put  it  to  your  honor,  sir, 
To  yield  my  father  for  a  while  to  me. 
A  son,  you  know,  may  to  a  father's  ear 
Unbosom  much,  in  fulness  of  his  heart, 
That  not  befits  a  stranger's  ear.     The  king 
Shall  not  be  taken  from  you,  sir  —  I  seek 
The  father  only  for  one  little  hour. 

KING. 

Here  stands  his  friend. 

CARLOS. 

And  have  I  e'er  deserved 
To  think  the  duke  should  be  a  friend  of  mine  ? 

KING. 

Or  tried  to  make  him  one?    I  scarce  can  love 

Those  sons  who  choose  more  wisely  than  their  fathers. 

CARLOS. 

And  can  Duke  Alva's  knightly  spirit  brook 
To  look  on  such  a  scene?    Now,  as  I  live, 
I  would  not  play  the  busy  meddler's  part, 
Who  thrusts  himself,  unasked,  'twixt  sire  and  son, 
And  there  intrudes  without  ablush,  condemned 
By  his  own  conscious  insignificance, 
No,  not,  by  heaven,  to  win  a  diadem ! 


156  DON   CARLOS. 

KING  (rising,  with  an  angry  look  at  the  Prince). 

Retire,  my  lord ! 

[ALVA  goes   to   the  principal  door,   through  which 
CARLOS  had  entered,  the  KING  points  to  the  other. 

No,  to  the  cabinet, 
Until  I  call  you. 

SCKNE    II. 

KING  PHILIP.     DON   CARLOS. 

CARLOS  (as  soon  as  the  DUKE  has  left  the  apartment, 
advances  to  the  KING,  throws  himself  at  his  feet,  and 
then,  wit/i  great  emotion). 

My  father  once  again  ! 

Thanks,  endless  thanks,  for  this  unwonted  favor! 
Your  hand,  my  father !     O  delightful  day  ! 
The  rapture  of  this  kiss  has  long  been  strange 
To  your  poor  Carlos.     Wherefore  have  I  been 
Shut  from  my  father's  heart  ?    What  have  I  done  ? 

KING. 

Carlos,  thou  art  a  novice  in  these  arts  — 
P"orbear,  I  like  them  not 

CARLOS  (rising). 

And  is  it  so  ? 

I  hear  your  courtiers  in  those  words,  my  father ! 
All  is  not  well,  by  heaven,  all  is  not  true, 
That  a  priest  says,  and  a  priest's  creatures  plot. 
I  am  not  wicked,  father;  ardent  blood 
Is  all  my  failing;  —  all  my  crime  is  youth  ;  — 
Wicked  I  am  not  —  no,  in  truth,  not  wicked  ;  — 
Though  many  an  impulse  wild  assails  my  heart, 
Yet  is  it  still  untainted. 

KING. 

Ay,  'tis  pure  — 
I  know  it  —  like  thy  prayers 

CARLOS. 

Now,  then,  or  never! 
We  are,  for  once,  alone  —  the  barrier 
Of  courtly  form,  that  severed  sire  and  son, 


DON    CARLOS.  157 

FTas  fallen  !     Now  a  golden  ray  of  hope 
Illumes  rny  soul  — a  sweet  presentment 
Pervades  my  heart  —  and  heaven  itself  inclines, 
With  choirs  of  joyous  angels,  to  the  earth, 
And  full  of  soft  emotion,  the  thrice  blest 
Looks  down  upon  this  great,  this  glorious  scene ! 
Pardon,  my  father ! 

\_IIe  falls  on  his  knees  before  him 

KING. 

Rise,  and  leave  me. 

CARLOS. 

Father 
KING  (tearing  himself  from  him). 

This  trifling  grows  too  bold. 

CARLOS. 

A  son's  devotion 
Too  bold!    Alas! 

KING. 

And,  to  crown  all,  in  tears ! 
Degraded  boy !     Away,  and  quit  my  sight ! 

CARLOS. 
Now,  then,  or  never !  —  pardon,  O  my  father ! 

KING. 

Away,  and  leave  my  sight !     Return  to  me 
Disgraced,  defeated,  from  the  battle-field, 
Thy  sire  shall  meet  thee  with  extended  arms: 
But  thus  in  tears,  I  spurn  thee  from  my  feet. 
A  coward's  guilt  alone  should  wash  its  stains 
In  such  ignoble  streams.     The  man  who  weeps 
Without  a  blush  will  ne'er  want  cause  for  tears  ! 

CARLOS. 

Who  is  this  man?    By  what  mistake  of  nature 
Has  he  thus  strayed  amongst  mankind  ?    A  tear 
Is  man's  unerring,  lasting  attribute. 
Whose  eye  is  dry  was  ne'er  of  woman  born  ! 
Oh,  teach  the  eye  that  ne'er  hath  overflowed, 


158  DON    CARLOS. 

The  timely  science  of  a  tear  —  thou'lt  need 
The  moist  relief  in  some  dark  hour  of  woe. 

KING. 

Think'st  thou  to  shake  thy  father's  strong  mistrust 
With  specious  words? 

CARLOS. 

Mistrust !     Then  I'll  remove  it 
Here  will  I  hang  upon  my  father's  breast, 
Strain  at  his  heart  with  vigor,  till  each  shred 
Of  that  mistrust,  which,  with  a  rock's  endurance, 
Clings  firmly  round  it,  piecemeal  fall  away. 
And  who  are  they  who  drive  me  from  the  king  — 
My  father's  favor  ?     What  requital  hath 
A  monk  to  give  a  father  for  a  son  ? 
What  compensation  can  the  duke  supply 
For  a  deserted  and  a  childless  age? 
Would'st  thou  be  loved  ?     Here  in  this  bosom  springs 
A  fresher,  purer  fountain,  than  e'er  flowed 
From  those  dark,  stagnant,  muddy  reservoirs, 
Which  Philip's  gold  must  first  unlock. 

KING. 

No  more, 

Presuming  boy !     For  know  the  hearts  thou  slanderest 
Are  the  approved,  true  servants  of  my  choice. 
'Tis  meet  that  thou  do  honor  to  them. 

CARLOS. 

Never ! 

I  know  my  worth  —  all  that  your  Alva  dares  — 
That,  and  much  more,  can  Carlos.     What  cares  he, 
A  hireling  !  for  the  welfare  of  the  realm 
That  never  can  be  his  ?     What  careth  he 
•If  Philip's  hair  grow  gray  with  hoary  age? 
Your  Carlos  would  have  loved  you  :  —  Oh,  I  dread 
To  think  that  you  the  royal  throne  must  fill 
Deserted  and  alone. 

KING    (seemingly   struck  by   this   idea,   stands   in   deep 
thought;  after  a  pause). 

I  am  alone ! 


DON  CARLOS.  159 

CARLOS  (approaching  him  with  eagerness). 

You  "have  been  so  till  now.     Hate  me  no  more, 

And  I  will  love  you  dearly  as  a  son : 

But  hate  me  now  no  longer !     Oh,  how  sweet, 

Divinely  sweet  it  is  to  feel  our  being 

Reflected  in  another's  beauteous  soul ; 

To  see  our  joys  gladden  another's  cheek, 

Our  pains  bring  anguish  to  another's  bosom, 

Our  sorrows  till  another's  eye  with  tears! 

How  sweet,  how  glorious  is  it,  hand  in  hand, 

With  a  dear  child,  in  inmost  soul  beloved, 

To  tread  once  more  the  rosy  paths  of  youth, 

And  dream  life's  fond  illusions  o'er  again ! 

How  proud  to  live  through  endless  centuries 

Immortal  in  the  virtues  of  a  son  ; 

How  sweet  to  plant  what  his  dear  hand  shall  reap 

To  gather  what  will  yield  him  rich  return, 

And  guess  how  high  his  thanks  will  one  day  rise ! 

My  father  of  this  early  paradise 

Your  monks  most  wisely  speak  not. 

KING  (not  without  emotion). 

Oh,  my  son, 

Thou  hast  condemned  thyself  in  painting  thus 
A  bliss  this  heart  hath  ne'er  enjoyed  from  thee. 

CARLOS. 

The  Omniscient  be  my  judge!     You  till  this  hour 
Have  still  debarred  me  from  your  heart,  and  all 
Participation  in  your  royal  cares. 
The  heir  of  Spain  has  been  a  very  stranger 
In  Spanish  land  —  a  prisoner  in  the  realm 
Where  he  must  one  day  rule.     Say,  was  this  just. 
Or  kind?     And  often  have  I  blushed  for  shame, 
An;l  stood  with  eyes  abashed,  to  learn  perchance 
From  foreign  envoys,  or  the  general  rumor, 
Thy  courtly  doings  at  Aranjuez. 

KIXG. 

Thy  blood  flows  far  too  hotly  in  thy  vehis. 
Thou  would'st  but  ruki  all. 


DON    CARLOS. 
CARLOS. 

But  try  me,  father . 

'Tis  true  my  blood  flows  hotly  in  my  veins. 
Full  three-and-twenty  years  I  now  have  lived, 
And  naught  achieved  for  immortality. 
I  am  aroused  —  I  feel  my  inward  powers  — 
My  title  to  the  throne  arouses  me 
P>om  slumber,  like  an  angry  creditor  ; 
And  all  the  misspent  hours  of  early  youth, 
Like  debts  of  honor,  clamor  in  mine  ears. 
It  conies  at  length,  the  glorious  moment  comes 
That  claims  full  interest  on  the  intrusted  talent 
The  annals  of  the  world,  ancestral  fame, 
And  glory's  echoing  trumpet  urge  me  on. 
Now  is  the  blessed  hour  at  length  arrived 
That  opens  wide  to  me  the  list  of  honor. 
My  king,  my  father !  dare  I  utter  now 
The  suit  which  led  me  hither  ? 

KING. 

Still  a  suit? 
Unfold  it. 

CARLOS. 

The  rebellion  in  Brabant 
Increases  to  a  height  —  the  traitor's  madness 
By  stern,  but  prudent,  vigor  must  be  met. 
The  duke,  to  quell  the  wild  enthusiasm, 
Invested  with  the  sovereign's  power,  will  lead 
An  army  into  Planders.     Oh,  how  full 
Of  glory  is  such  office  !  and  how  suited 
To  open  wide  the  temple  of  renown 
To  me,  your  son  !     To  my  hand,  then,  O  king, 
Intrust  the  army  ;  in  thy  Flemish  lands 
I  am  well  loved,  and  I  will  freely  gage 
My  life  for  their  fidelity  and  truth. 

KING. 

Thou  speakest  like  a  dreamer.     This  high  office 
Demands  a  man  —  and  not  a  stripling's  arm. 

CARLOS. 

It  but  demands  a  human  being,  father: 
And  that  is  what  Duke  Alva  ne'er  hath  been. 


DON   CARLOS.  161 

KING. 

Terror  alone  can  tie  rebellion's  hands : 
Humanity  were  madness.     Thy  soft  soul 
Is  tender,  son :  they'll  tremble  at  the  duke. 
Desist  from  thy  request. 

CARLOS. 

Despatch  me,  sire, 

To  Flanders  with  the  army  —  dare  rely 
E'en  on  my  tender  soul.     The  name  of  prince, 
The  royal  name  emblazoned  on  my  standard, 
Conquers  where  Alva's  butchers  but  dismay. 
Here  on  my  knees  I  crave  it  —  this  the  first 
Petition  of  my  life.     Trust  Flanders  to  me. 

KING  (contemplating  CARLOS  with  a  piercing  look). 

Trust  my  best  army  to  thy  thirst  for  rule, 
And  put  a  dagger  in  my  murderer's  hand ! 

CARLOS. 

Great  God !  and  is  this  all  —  is  this  the  fruit 
Of  a  momentous  hour  so  long  desired  ! 

\_After  some  thought,  in  a  milder  tone. 
Oh,  speak  to  me  more  kindly  —  send  me  not 
Thus  comfortless  away  — dismiss  me  not 
With  this  afflicting  answer,  oh,  my  father! 
Use  me  more  tenderly,  indeed,  I  need  it. 
This  is  the  last  resource  of  wild  despair  — 
it  conquers  every  power  of  firm  resolve 
To  bear  it  as  a  man  —  this  deep  contempt  — 
My  every  suit  denied  :     Let  me  away  — 
Unheard  and  foiled  in  all  my  fondest  hopes, 
I  take  my  leave,     Now  Alva  and  Domingo 
May  proudly  sit  in  triumph  where  your  son 
Lies  weeping  in  the  dust.     Your  crowd  of  courtiers, 
And  your  long  train  of  cringing,  trembling  nobles, 
Your  tribe  of  sallow  monks,  so  deadly  pale, 
All  witnessed  how  you  granted  me  this  audience. 
Let  me  not  be  disgraced.     Oh,  strike  me  not 
With  this  most  deadly  wound  —  nor  lay  me  bare 
To  sneering  insolence  of  menial  taunts  ! 


162  DON    CARLOS. 

"  That  strangers  riot  on  your  bounty,  whilst 
Curios,  your  son,  may  supplicate  in  vain." 
And  as  a  pledge  that  you  would  have  rue  honored, 
Despatch  me  straight  to  Flanders  with  the  army. 

KING. 

Urge  thy  request  no  farther  —  as  thou  wouldst 
Avoid  the  king's  displeasure. 

CARLOS. 

I  must  brave 

My  king's  displeasure,  and  prefer  my  suit 
Once  more,  it  is  the  last.     Trust  Flanders  to  me ! 
I  must  away  from  Spain.     To  linger  here 
Is  to  draw  breath  beneath  the  headsman's  axe : 
The  air  lies  heavy  on  me  in  Madrid 
Like  murder  on  a  guilty  soul  —  a  change, 
AD  instant  change  of  clime  alone  can  cure  me. 
If  you  would  save  my  life,  despatch  me  straight 
Without  delay  to  Flanders. 

KING  (with  affected  coldness). 

Invalids, 

Like  thee,  my  son  — need  not  be  tended  close, 
And  ever  watched  by  the  physician's  eye  — 
Thou  stayest  in  Spain  —  the  duke  will  go  to  Flanders. 

CARLOS  (wildly). 
Assist  me,  ye  good  angels ! 

KING  (starting). 

Hold,  what  mean 
These  looks  so  wild  ? 

CARLOS. 

Father,  do  you  abide 
Immovably  by  this  determination  ? 

KING. 

It  was  the  king's. 

CARLOS. 

Then  my  commission's  done. 

[Exit  in  violent  emotion. 


DON   CARLOS.  163 

SCENE  III. 

King,  sunk  in  gloomy  contemplation,  walks  a  few  steps  up  and 
down ;  Alva  approaches  with  embarrassment^ 

KING. 

Hold  yourself  ready  to  depart  for  Brussels 
Upon  a  moment's  notice. 

ALVA. 
All  is  prepared,  ray  liege. 

KING. 

And  your  credentials 
Lie  ready  sealed  within  my  cabinet,  — 
Meanwhile  obtain  an  audience  of  the  queen, 
And  bid  the  prince  farewell. 

ALVA. 

As  I  came  in 

I  met  him  with  a  look  of  frenzy  wild 
Quitting  the  chamber;  and  your  majesty 
Is  strangely  moved,  methinks,  and  bears  the  marks 
Of  deep  excitement  —  can  it  be  the  theme 

Of  your  discourse 

KING. 

Concerned  the  Duke  of  Alva. 
[  The  KING  keeps  his  eye  steadfastly  fixed  on  him. 
I'm  pleased  that  Carlos  hates  my  councillors, 
But  I'm  disturbed  that  he  despises  them. 

[ALVA,  coloring  deeply,  is  about  to  speak. 
No  answer  now  :  propitiate  the  prince. 

ALVA. 
Sire! 

KING. 

Tell  me  who  it  was  that  warned  me  first 
Of  my  son's  dark  designs?    I  listened  then 
To  you,  and  not  to  him.     I  will  have  proof. 
And  for  the  future,  mark  me,  Carlos  stands 
Nearer  the  throne  —  now  duke  —  you  may  retire. 
[  The  KING  retires  into  his  cabinet.    Exit  DUKE  by 
another  door. 


164  DON   CARLOS. 

SCENE  IV. 

The  antechamber  to  the  QUEEN'S  apartments.  DON  CARLOS 
enters  in  conversation  with  a  PAGE.  The  attendants  retire  at 
his  approach. 

CAELOS. 

For  me  this  letter  ?    And  a  key !     How's  this  ? 

And  both  delivered  with  such  mystery ! 

Come  nearer,  boy  :  —  from  whom  didst  thou  receive  them  ? 

PAGE  (mysteriously). 

It  seemed  to  me  the  lady  would  be  guessed 
Rather  than  be  described. 

CARLOS  (starting). 

The  lady,  what ! 
Who  art  thou,  boy  ?      [Looking  earnestly  at  the  PAGE. 

PAGE. 

A  page  that  serves  the  queen. 

CARLOS  (affrighted,  putting  his  hand  to  the  PAGE'S  mouth). 
Hold,  on  your  life !     I  know  enough :  no  more. 

\_He  tears  open  the  letter  hastily,  and  retires  to  read 
it;  meanwhile  DUKE  ALVA  comes,  and  passing  the 
Prince,  goes  unperceived  by  him  into  the  QUEEN'S 
apartment,  CARLOS  trembles  violently  and  changes 
color  ;  when,  he  has  read  the  letter  he  remains  a  long 
time  speechless,  his  eyes  steadfastly  fixed  on  it;  at 
last  he  turns  to  the  PAGE. 
She  gave  you  this  herself  ? 

PAGE. 

With  her  own  hands. 
CARLOS. 

She  gave  this  letter  to  you  then  herself  ? 
Deceive  me  not :  I  ne'er  have  seen  her  writing, 
And  I  must  credit  thee,  if  thou  canst  swear  it; 
But  if  thy  tale  be  false,  confess  it  straight, 
Nor  put  this  fraud  on  me. 

PAGE. 

This  fraud,  on  whom  ? 


DON   CARLOS.  165 

OARLOS  (looking  once  more  at  the  letter,  then  at  the  PAGE 

with  doubt  and  earnestness). 

Your  parents  —  are  they  living?  and  your  father  — 
Serves  he  the  king  ?    Is  he  a  Spaniard  born  ? 

PAGE. 

He  fell  a  colonel  on  St.  Quentin's  field, 
Served  in  the  cavalry  of  Savoy's  duke  — 
His  name  Alonzo,  Count  of  Henarez. 

CARLOS  (taking  his  hand,  and  looking  fixedly  in  his  eyes). 
The  king  gave  you  this  letter? 

PAGE  (with  emotion). 

Gracious  prince, 
Have  I  deserved  these  doubts  ? 

CARLOS  (reading  the  letter). 

"  This  key  unlocks 

The  back  apartments  in  the  queen's  pavilion, 
The  furthest  room  lies  next  a  cabinet 
Wherein  no  listener's  foot  dare  penetrate; 
Here  may  the  voice  of  love  without  restraint 
Confess  those  tender  feelings,  which  till  now 
The  heart  with  silent  looks  alone  hath  spoken. 
The  timid  lover  gains  an  audience  here, 
And  sweet  reward  repays  his  secret  sorrow." 

[As  if  awakening  from  a  revene. 
I  am  not  in  a  dream,  I  do  not  rave,  — 
This  is  my  right  hand,  this  my  sword  —  and  these 
A/e  written  words.     'Tis  true  —  it  is  no  dream. 
I  am  beloved,  I  feel  I  am  beloved. 

[  Unable  to  contain  himself,  he  rushes  hastily  through 
the  room,  and  raises  his  arms  to  heaven. 

PAGE. 
Follow  me,  prince,  and  I  will  lead  the  way. 

CARLOS. 

Then  let  me  first  collect  my  scattered  thoughts. 
The  alarm  of  joy  still  trembles  in  my  bosom. 
Did  I  e'er  lift  my  fondest  hopes  so  high, 
Or  trust  my  fancy  to  so  bold  a  flight? 


i6  DOX    CARLOS. 

Show  me  the  man  can  learn  thus  suddenly 

To  be  a  god.     I  am  not  what  I  was. 

I  feel  another  heaven  —  another  sun 

That  was  not  here  before.     She  loves  —  she  loves  rnel 

PAGE  (leading  him  forward). 
But  this  is  not  the  place :  prince !  you  forget. 

CARLOS. 
The  king !   My  father ! 

[His  arms  sink,  he  casts  a  timid  look  around,  then 
collecting  himself. 

This  is  dreadful !     Yes, 

You're  right,  my  friend.     I  thank  you :  I  was  not 
Just  then  myself.     To  be  compelled  to  silence, 
And  bury  in  my  heart  this  mighty  bliss, 
Is  terrible ! 

[  Taking  the  PAGE  by  the  hand,  and  leading  him  aside. 

Now  here !     What  thou  hast  seen, 
And  what  not  seen,  must  be  within  thy  breast 
Entombed  as  in  the  grave.     So  now  depart ; 
I  shall  not  need  thy  guidance ;  they  must  not 
Surprise  us  here !    Now  go. 

[The  PAGE  is  about  to  depart. 

Yet  hold,  a  word  ! 
[  The  PAGE  returns.     CARLOS  lays  his  hand  on  his 

shoulder,  and  looks  him  steadily  in  the  face. 
A  direful  secret  hast  thou  in  thy  keeping, 
Which,  like  a  poison  of  terrific  power, 
Shivers  the  cup  that  holds  it  into  atoms. 
Guard  every  look  of  thine,  nor  let  thy  head 
Guess  at  thy  bosom's  secret.     Be  thou  like 
The  senseless  speaking-trumpet  that  receives 
And  echoes  back  the  voice,  but  hears  it  not. 
Thou  art  a  boy !     Be  ever  so  ;  continue 
The  pranks  of  youth.     My  correspondent  chose 
Her  messenger  of  love  with  prudent  skill! 
The  king  will  ne'er  suspect  a  serpent  here. 

PAGE. 

And  I,  my  prince,  shall  feel  right  proud  to  know 
I  am  one  secret  richer  than  the  king. 


DON    CARLOS.  167 

CARLOS. 

Vain,  foolish  boy!  'tis  this  should  make  thee  tremble. 

Approach  me  ever  with  a  cold  respect: 

Ne'er  be  induced  by  idle  pride  to  boast 

How  gracious  is  the  prince  !     No  deadlier  sin 

Canst  thou  commit,  my  son,  than  pleasing  me. 

Whate'er  thou  hast  in  future  for  my  ear, 

Give  not  to  words  ;  intrust  not  to  thy  lips, 

Ne'er  on  that  common  high  road  of  the  thoughts 

Permit  thy  news  to  travel.     Speak  with  an  eye, 

A  finger;  I  will  answer  with  a  look. 

The  very  air,  the  light,  are  Philip's  creatures, 

And  the  deaf  walls  around  are  in  his  pay. 

Some  one  approaches;  fly,  we'll  meet  again. 

\_Tlie  QUEEN'S  chamber  opens,  and  DUKE  ALVA 
comes  out. 

PAGE. 
Be  careful,  prince,  to  find  the  right  apartment.     \_Exit 

CARLOS. 
It  is  the  duke !     Fear  not,  I'll  find  the  way. 

SCENE  V. 
DON  CARLOS.     DUKE  OP  ALVA. 

ALVA  (meeting  him). 
Two  words,  most  gracious  prince. 
CARLOS. 

Some  other  time.    [  Going 
ALVA. 

The  place  is  not  the  fittest,  I  confess ; 
Perhaps  your  royal  highness  may  be  pleased 
To  grant  me  audience  in  your  private  chamber. 

CARLOS. 
For  what  ?    And  why  not  here  ?    Only  be  brief. 

ALVA. 

The  special  object  which  has  brought  me  hither, 
Is  to  return  your  highness  lowly  thanks 
For  your  good  services. 


168  DON    CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

Thanks !  thanks  to  me  — 
For  what  ?    Duke  Alva's  thanks ! 

ALVA. 

You  scarce  had  left 
His  majesty,  ere  I  received  in  form 
Instructions  to  depart  for  Brussels. 

CAELOS. 

What! 
For  Brussels ! 

ALVA. 

And  to  what,  most  gracious  prince, 
Must  I  ascribe  this  favor,  but  to  you  — 
Your  intercession  with  the  king  ? 

CAKLOS. 

Oh,  no ! 

Not  in  the  least  to  me ;  but,  duke,  you  travel, 
So  Heaven  be  with  your  grace ! 

ALVA. 

And  is  this  all  ? 

It  seems,  indeed,  most  strange !     And  has  your  highness 
No  further  orders,  then,  to  send  to  Flanders  ? 

CARLOS. 
What  should  I  have  ? 

ALVA. 

Not  long  ago,  it  seemed, 
That  country's  fate  required  your  presence. 

CARLOS. 

How? 

But  yes,  you're  right,  —  it  was  so  formerly ; 
But  now  this  change  is  better  as  it  is. 

ALVA. 
I  am  amazed 

CARLOS. 

You  are  an  able  general, 

No  one  doubts  that  —  envy  herself  must  own  it- 
For  me,  I'm  but  a  youth  —  so  thought  the  king. 


DON  CARLOS.  169 

The  king  was  right,  quite  right.     I  see  it  now 
Myself,  and  am  content —  and  so  no  more. 
God  speed  your  journey,  as  you  see,  just  now 
My  hands  are  full,  and  weighty  business  presses. 
The  rest  to-morrow,  or  whene'er  you  will, 
Or  when  you  come  from  Brussels. 

ALVA. 

What  is  this? 

CARLOS. 

The  season  favors,  and  your  route  will  lie 
Through  Milan,  Lorraine.  Burgundy,  and  on 
To  Germany  !     What,  Germany  ?     Ay,  true, 
In  Germany  it  was — they  know  you  there. 
'Tis  April  now,  May,  June,  —  in  July,  then, 
Just  so!  or,  at  the  latest,  soon  in  August, — 
You  will  arrive  in  Brussels,  and  no  doubt 
We  soon  shall  hear  of  your  victorious  deeds. 
You  know  the  way  to  win  our  high  esteem, 
And  earn  the  crown  of  fame. 

ALVA  (s  ign  ifican  tly) . 

Indeed  !  condemned 
By  my  own  conscious  insignificance! 

CARLOS. 

You're  sensitive,  my  lord,  and  with  some  cause, 
I  own  it  was  not  fair  to  use  a  weapon 
Against  your  grace  you  were  unskilled  to  wield. 

ALVA. 
Unskilled ! 

CARLOS. 

'Tis  pity  I've  no  leisure  now 
To  fight  this  worthy  battle  fairly  out : 
But  at  some  other  time,  we 

ALVA. 

Prince,  we  both 

Miscalculate  —  but  still  in  opposite  ways. 
You,  for  example,  overrate  your  age 
By  twenty  years,  whilst  on  the  other  hand, 
I,  by  as  many,  underrate  it 


170  DON    CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

Well 

ALVA. 

And  this  suggests  the  thought,  how  many  nights 

Beside  this  lovely  Lusitanian  bride  — 

Your  mother  —  would  the  king  right  gladly  give 

To  buy  an  arm  like  this,  to  aid  his  crown. 

Full  well  he  knows,  far  easier  is  the  task 

To  make  a  monarch  than  a  monarchy  ; 

Far  easier  too,  to  stock  the  world  with  kings 

Than  frame  an  empire  for  a  king  to  rule. 

CARLOS. 
Most  true,  Duke  Alva,  yet 

ALVA. 

And  how  much  blood, 

Your  subjects'  dearest  blood,  must  flow  in  streams 
Before  two  drops  could  make  a  king  of  you. 

CARLOS. 

Most  true,  by  heaven  !  and  in  two  words  comprised, 
All  that  the  pride  of  merit  has  to  urge 
Against  the  pride  of  fortune.     But  the  moral  — 
Now,  Duke  Alva  ! 

ALVA. 

Woe  to  the  nursling  babe 
Of  royalty  that  mocks  the  careful  hand 
Which  fosters  it !     How  calmly  it  may  sleep 
On  the  soft  cushion  of  our  victories ! 
The  monarch's  crown  is  bright  with  sparkling  gems, 
But  no  eye  sees  the  woun.ls  that  purchased  them. 
This  sword  has  given  our  laws  to  distant  realms, 
Has  blazed  before  the  banner  of  the  cross, 
And  in  these  quarters  of  the  globe  has  traced 
Ensanguined  furrows  for  the  seed  of  faith. 
God  was  the  judge  in  heaven,  and  I  on  earth. 

CAULOS. 

God,  or  the  devil  —  it  little  matters  which  ; 
Yours  was  his  chosen  arm  —  that  stands  confessed. 
And  now  no  more  of  this.     Some  thoughts  there  are 


DON   CARLOS.  171 

Whereof  the  memory  pains  me.     I  respect 

My  father's  choice,  — my  father  needs  an  Alva ! 

But  that  he  needs  him  is  not  just  the  point 

I  envy  in  him  :  a  great  man  you  are, 

This  may  be  true,  and  I  well  nigh  believe  it, 

Only  I  fear  your  mission  is  begun 

Some  thousand  years  too  soon.     Alva,  methinks, 

Were  just  the  man  to  suit  the  end  of  time. 

Then  when  the  giant  insolence  of  vice 

Shall  have  exhausted  Heaven's  enduring  patience, 

And  the  rich  waving  harvest  of  misdeeds 

Stand  in  full  ear,  and  asks  a  matchless  reaper, 

Then  should  you  fill  the  post.     O  God !  my  paradise ! 

My  Flanders !     But  of  this  I  must  not  think. 

'Tis  said  you  carry  with  you  a  full  store 

Of  sentences  of  death  already  signed. 

This  shows  a  prudent  foresight !     No  more  need 

To  fear  your  foes'  designs,  or  secret  plots : 

Oh,  father !  ill  indeed  I've  understood  thee. 

Calling  thee  harsh,  to  save  me  from  a  post, 

Where  Alva's  self  alone  can  fitly  shine ! 

'Twas  an  unerring  token  of  your  love. 

ALVA. 
These  words  deserve 

CARLOS. 
What! 

ALVA. 

But  your  birth  protects  you. 

CARLOS  (seizing  his  sicord). 
That  calls  for  blood  !     Duke,  draw  your  sword  ! 

ALVA  (slightingly). 

On  whom  ? 
CARLOS  (pressing  upon  him). 

Draw,  or  I  run  you  through. 
ALVA. 

Then  be  it  so.     [  They  fight. 


172  DON    CARLOS. 

SCENE  VI. 

The  QUEEN,  DON  CARLOS,  DUKE  ALVA. 
QUEEN  (coming  from  her  room  alarmed}. 
How!  naked  swords? 

[  To  the  PRINCE  in  an  indignant  and  commanding 
tone. 

Prince  Carlos ! 

CARLOS  (agitated  at  the  QUEEN'S  look,  drops  his  arm, 
stands  motionless,  then  rushes  to  the  DUKE,  and 
embraces  him. 

Pardon,  duke ! 
Your  pardon,  sir !     Forget,  forgive  it  all ! 

[  Throics  himself  in  silence  at  the  QUEEN'S  feet,  then 
rising  suddenly,  departs  in  confusion. 

ALVA. 
By  heaven,  'tis  strange  ! 

QUEEN  (remains  a  few  moments  as  if  in  doubt,  then  retir- 
ing to  her  apartment). 

A  word  with  you,  Duke  Alva. 

{Exit,  followed  by  the  DUKE. 

SCENE  VII. 
The  PRINCESS  EBOLI'S  apartment. 

The  PRINCESS  in  a  simple,  but  elegant  dress,  playing  on  the  lute. 
The  QUEEN'S  PAGE  enters. 

PRINCESS  (starting  up  suddenly) 
He  comes ! 

PAGE  (abruptly). 

Are  you  alone  ?    I  wonder  much 
He  is  not  here  already  ;  but  he  must 
Be  here  upon  the  instant. 

PRINCESS. 

Do  you  say  must ! 
Then  he  will  come,  this  much  is  certain  then. 


DON    CARLOS.  173 


PAGE. 

He's  close  upon  my  steps.     You  are  beloved, 
Adored,  and  with  more  passionate  regard 
Than  mortal  ever  was,  or  can  be  loved. 
Oh  !  what  a  scene  I  witnessed  ! 

PRINCESS  (impatiently  draws  him  to  her). 

Quick,  you  spoke 

With  him !     What  said  he  ?     Tell  me  straight  — 
How  did  he  look?  what  were  his  words?     And  say 
Did  he  appear  embarrassed  or  confused  ? 
And  did  he  guess  who  sent  the  key  to  him  ? 
Be  quick  !  or  did  lie  not  ?     He  did  not  guess 
At  all,  perhaps  !  or  guessed  amiss  !     Come,  speak, 
How !  not  a  word  to  answer  me  ?     Oh,  fie  ! 
You  never  were  so  dull  —  so  slow  before, 
'Tis  past  all  patience. 

PAGE. 

Dearest  lady,  hear  me  ! 

Both  key  and  note  I  placed  within  his  hands, 
In  the  queen's  antechamber,  and  he  started 
And  gazed  with  wonder  when  I  told  him  that 
A  lady  sent  me ! 

PRINCESS. 

Did  he  start  ?  go  on  ! 
That's  excellent.    Proceed,  what  next  ensued  ? 

PAGE. 

I  would  have  told  him  more,  but  he  grew  pale, 
And  snatched  the  letter  from  my  hand,  and  said 
With  look  of  deadly  menace,  he  knew  all. 
He  read  the  letter  with  confusion  through, 
And  straight  began  to  tremble. 

PRINCESS. 

He  knew  all ! 
He  knew  it  all?    Were  those  his  very  words? 

PAGE. 

He  asked  me,  and  again  he  asked,  if  you 
With  your  own  hands  had  given  me  the  letter? 


174  DON   CARLOS. 

PRINCESS. 

If  I?     Then  did  he  mention  me  by  name? 

PAGE. 

By  name  !  no  name  he  mentioned  :  there  might  be 
Listeners,  he  said,  about  the  palace,  who 
Might  to  the  king  disclose  it. 

PRINCESS  (surprised). 

Said  he  that? 

PAGE. 

He  further  said,  it  much  concerned  the  king; 
Deeply  concerned  —  to  know  of  that  same  letter. 

PRINCESS. 

The  king !     Nay,  are  yon  sure  you  heard  him  right  ? 
The  king!     Was  that  the  very  word  lie  used  ? 

PAGE. 

It  was.     He  called  it  a  most  perilous  secret, 
And  warned  me  to  be  strictly  on  my  guard, 
Never  with  word  or  look  to  give  the  king 
Occasion  for  suspicion. 

PRINCESS  (after  a  pause,  with  astonishment). 

All  agrees! 

It  can  be  nothing  else  — he  must  have  heard 
The  tale  — 'tis  very  strange  !    Who  could  have  told  him, 
I  wonder  who  ?     The  eagle  eye  of  love 
Alone  could  pierce  so  far.     But  tell  me  further  — 
He  read  the  letter. 


Which,  he  said,  conveyed 
Such  bliss  as  made  him  tremble,  and  till  then 
He  had  not  dared  to  drenm  of.     As  he  spoke 
The  duke,  by  evil  chance,  approached  the  room, 
And  this  compelled  us 

PRINCESS  (angrily). 

What  in  all  the  world 

Could  bring  the  duke  to  him  at  such  a  time  ? 
What  can  detain  him ?     Why  appears  he  not? 


DON   CARLOS.  175 

See  how  you've  been  deceived  ;  how  truly  blest 
Might  he  have  been  already  —  in  the  time 
You've  taken  to  describe  his  wishes  to  me ! 

PAGE. 

The  duke,  I  fear 

PRINCESS. 

Again,  the  duke !     What  can 

The  duke  want  here  ?     What  should  a  warrior  want 
With  my  soft  dreams  of  happiness?     He  should 
Have  left  him  there,  or  sent  him  from  his  presence. 
Where  is  the  man  may  not  be  treated  thus? 
But  Carlos  seems  as  little  versed  in  love 
As  in  a  woman's  heart  —  lie  little  knows 
What  minutes  are.     But  hark !  I  hear  a  step ; 
Away,  away  !  [PAGE  hastens  out. 

Where  have  I  laid  my  lute? 
I  must  not  seem  to  wait  for  him.  My  song 
Shall  be  a  signal  to  him. 

SCENE  VIII. 

The  PRINCESS,  DON  CARLOS. 

The  PRINCESS  has  thrown  herself  upon  an  ottoman,  and 
plays. 

CARLOS  (rushes  in;  he  recognizes  the  PRINCESS,  and  stands 
th  under s  trucJc) . 

Gracious  Heaven ! 
Where  am  I  ? 

PRINCESS  (lets  her  lute  fall,  and  meeting  him). 

What?    Prince  Carlos!  yes,  in  truth, 

CARLOS. 

Where  am  I  ?     Senseless  error ;  I  have  missed 
The  right  apartment. 

PRINCESS. 

With  what  dexterous  skill 
Carlos  contrives  to  hit  the  very  room 
Where  ladies  sit  alone ! 

CARLOS. 

Your  pardon,  princess ! 
I  found  —  I  found  the  antechamber  open. 


176  DON   CARLOS. 

PRINCESS. 

Can  it  be  possible  ?    I  fastened  it 
Myself ;  at  least  I  thought  so 


CARLOS. 

Ay !  you  thought, 

You  only  thought  so ;  rest  assured  you  did  not. 
You  meant  to  lock  it,  that  I  well  believe : 
But  most  assuredly  it  was  not  locked. 
A  lute's  sweet  sounds  attracted  me,  some  hand 
Touched  it  with  skill ;  say,  was  it  not  a  lute  ? 

[Looking  round  inquiringly. 

Yes,  there  it  lies,  and  Heaven  can  bear  me  witness 
I  love  the  lute  to  madness.     I  became 
All  ear,  forgot  myself  in  the  sweet  strain, 
And  rushed  into  the  chamber  to  behold 
The  lovely  eyes  of  the  divine  musician 
Who  charmed  me  with  the  magic  of  her  tones. 

PRINCESS. 

Innocent  curiosity,  no  doubt ! 
But  it  was  soon  appeased,  as  I  can  prove. 

[After  a  short  silence,  significantly. 
I  must  respect  the  modesty  that  has, 
To  spare  a  woman's  blushes,  thus  involved 
Itself  in  so  much  fiction. 

CARLOS  (with  sincerity). 

Nay,  I  feel 

I  but  augment  my  deep  embarrassment, 
In  vain  attempt  to  extricate  myself. 
Excuse  me  for  a  part  I  cannot  play. 
In  this  remote  apartment,  you  perhaps 
Have  sought  a  refuge  from  the  world,  to  pour 
The  inmost  wishes  of  your  secret  heart 
Remote  from  man's  distracting  eye.     By  me, 
Unhappy  that  I  am,  your  heavenly  dreams 
Are  all  disturbed,  and  the  atonement  now 
Must  be  my  speedy  absence.  [  Going. 

PRINCESS  (surprised  and  confused,  but  immediately 
recovering  herself). 

Oh!  that  step 
Were  cruel,  prince,  indeed  ! 


DON   CARLOS.  177 

CARLOS. 

Princess,  I  feel 

What  such  a  look  in  such  a  place  imports : 
This  virtuous  embarrassment  has  claims 
To  which  my  manhood  never  can  be  deaf. 
Woe  to  the  wretch  whose  boldness  takes  new  fire 
From  the  pure  blush  of  maiden  modesty ! 
I  am  a  coward  when  a  woman  trembles. 

PRINCESS. 

Is't  possible  ?  —  such  noble  self-control 
In  one  so  young,  and  he  a  monarch's  son ! 
Now,  prince,  indeed  you  shall  remain  with  me, 
It  is  my  own  request,  and  you  must  stay. 
Near  such  high  virtue,  every  maiden  fear 
Takes  wing  at  once  ;  but  your  appearance  here 
Disturbed  me  in  a  favorite  air,  and  now 
Your  penalty  shall  be  to  hear  me  sing  it. 

CARLOS    (sits  down  near  the  PRINCESS,  not  without 
reluctance). 

A  penalty  delightful  as  the  sin  ! 
And  sooth  to  say,  the  subject  of  the  song 
Was  so  divine,  again  and  yet  again 
I'd  gladly  hear  it. 

PRINCESS. 

What!  you  heard  it  all? 

Nay,  that  was  too  bad,  prince.     It  was,  I  think, 
A  song  of  love. 

CARLOS. 

And  of  successful  love, 
If  I  mistake  not  —  dear  delicious  theme 
From  those  most  beauteous  lips  —  but  scarce  so  true, 
Methinks,  as  beautiful. 

PRINCESS. 

What !  not  so  true  ? 
Then  do  you  doubt  the  tale  ? 

CARLOS. 

I  almost  doubt 
That  Carlos  and  the  Princess  Eboli, 


178  DON    CARLOS. 

When  they  discourse  on  such  a  theme  as  love, 
May  not  quite  understand  each  other's*  hearts. 

[  The  PRINCESS  starts  ;  he  observes  it,  and  con- 
tinues with  play  fid  gallantry. 
Who  would  believe  those  rosy-tinted  cheeks 
Concealed  a  heart  torn  by  the  pangs  of  love. 
Is  it  within  the  range  of  wayward  chance 
That  the  fair  Princess  Eboli  should  sigh 
Unheard  —  unanswered  ?     Love  is  only  known 
By  him  who  hopelessly  persists  in  love. 

PRINCESS  (with  all  her  former  vivacity). 

Hush  !  what  a  dreadful  thought !  this  fate  indeed 
Appears  to  follow  you  of  all  mankind, 
Especially  to-day. 

{Taking  his  hand  irith  insinuating  interest. 

You  are  not  happy, 

Dear  prince  —  you're  sad  !     I  know  too  well  you  suffer, 
And  wherefore,  prince  ?     When  with  such  loud  appeal 
The  world  invites  you  to  enjoy  its  bliss  — 
And  nature  on  you  pours  her  bounteous  gifts, 
And  spreads  around  you  all  life's  sweetest  joys. 
You,  a  great  monarch's  son,  and  more  —  far  more  — 
E'en  in  your  cradle  with  such  gifts  endowed 
As  far  eclipsed  the  splendor  of  your  rank. 
You,  who  in  those  strict  courts  where  women  rule, 
And  pass,  without  appeal,  unerring  sentence 
On  manly  worth  and  honor,  even  there 
Find  partial  judges.     You,  who  with  a  look 
Can  prove  victorious,  and  whose  very  coldness 
Kindles  a  flame  ;  and  who,  when  warmed  with  passion, 
Can  make  a  paradise,  and  scatter  round 
The  bliss  of  heaven,  the  rapture  of  the  gods. 
The  man  whom  nature  has  adorned  writh  gifts 
To  render  thousands  happy,  gift*}  which  she 
Bestows  on  few  —  that  such  a  man  as  this 
Should  know  what  misery  is  !    Thou,  gracious  Heaver, 
That  gavest  him  all  those  blessings,  why  deny 
Him  eyes  to  see  the  conquests  he  has  made  ? 


DON    CARLOS.  179 

CARLOS  (who  has  been  lost  in  absence  of  mind,  suddenly 
recovers  himself  by  the  silence  of  the  PRINCESS,  and 
starts  up). 

Charming!  inimitable!     Princess,  sing 
That  passage,  pray,  again. 

PRINCESS  (looking  at  him  with  astonishment). 

Where,  Carlos,  were 
Your  thoughts  the  while  ? 

CARLOS  (jumps  up). 

By  heaven,  you  do  remind  me 
In  proper  time  —  I  must  away  —  and  quickly. 

PRINCESS  (holding  him  back). 
Whither  away  ? 

CARLOS. 

Into  the  open  air. 

Nay,  do  not  hold  me,  princess,  for  I  feel 
As  though  the  world  behind  me  were  in  flames. 

PRINCESS  (holding  him  forcibly  back). 

What  troubles  you  ?   Whence  comes  these  strange,  these 

wild, 
Unnatural  looks  ?    Nay,  answer  me ! 

[CARLOS  stops  to  reflect,  she  draws  him  to  the  sofa 
to  her. 

Dear  Carlos, 

You  need  repose,  your  blood  is  feverish. 
Come,  sit  by  me :  dispel  these  gloomy  fancies. 
Ask  yourself  frankly  can  your  head  explain 
The  tumult  of  your  heart  —  and  if  it  can  — 
Say,  can  no  knight  be  found  in  all  the  court, 
No  lady,  generous  as  fair,  to  cure  you  — 
Rather,  I  should  have  said,  to  understand  you  ? 
What,  no  one  ? 

CARLOS  (hastily,  without  thinking). 
If  the  Princess  Eboli 

PRINCESS  (delighted,  quickly). 
Indeed ! 


180  DON    CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

Would  write  a  letter  for  me,  a  few  words 

Of  kindly  intercession  to  my  father ; 

They  say  your  influence  is  great. 

PRINCESS. 

Who  says  so  ? 
Ha!  was  it  jealousy  that  held  thee  mute!  \_Aside 

CARLOS. 

Perchance  my  story  is  already  public. 
I  had  a  sudden  wish  to  visit  Brabant 
Merely  to  win  my  spurs  —  no  more.     The  king, 
Kind  soul,  is  fearful  the  fatigues  of  war 
Might  spoil  my  singing ! 

PRINCESS. 

Prince,  you  play  me  false ! 
Confess  that  by  this  serpent  subterfuge 
You  would  mislead  me.     Look  me  in  the  face, 
Deceitful  one !  and  say  would  he  whose  thoughts 
Were  only  bent  on  warlike  deeds  —  would  he 
E'er  stoop  so  low  as,  with  deceitful  hand, 
To  steal  fair  ladies'  ribbons  when  they  drop, 
And  then  —  your  pardon!  hoard  them  —  with  such  care? 
[  With  light  action  she  opens  his  shirt-frill,  and 
seizes  a  ribbon  ichich  is  there  concealed. 

CARLOS  (drawing  back  with  amazement}. 
Nay,  princess  —  that's  too  much  —  I  am  betrayed. 
You're  not  to  be  deceived.     You  are  in  league 
With  spirits  and  with  demons  ! 

PRINCESS. 

Are  you  then 

Surprised  at  this  ?     What  will  you  wager,  Carlos 
But  I  recall  some  stories  to  your  heart  ? 
Nay,  try  it  with  me ;  ask  whate'er  you  please, 
And  if  the  triflings  of  my  sportive  fancy  — 
The  sound  half-uttered  by  the  air  absorbed  — 
The  smile  of  joy  checked  by  returning  gloom 


If  motions  —  looks  from  your  own  soul  concealed 


DON    CARLOS.  181 

Have  not  escaped  ray  notice  —  judge  if  I 

Can- err  when  thou  wouldst  have  me  understand  thee  ? 

CARLOS. 

Why,  this  is  boldly  ventured  ;  I  accept 
The  \vager,  princess.     Then  you  undertake 
To  make  discoveries  in  my  secret  heart 
Unknown  even  to  myself. 

PRINCESS  (displeased,  but  earnestly). 

Unknown  to  thee ! 

Reflect  a  moment,  prince  !     Nay,  look  around  ; 
This  boudoir's  not  the  chamber  of  the  queen, 
Where  small  deceits  are  practised  with  full  license. 
You  start,  a  sudden  blush  o'erspreads  your  face. 
Who  is  so  bold,  so  idle,  you  would  ask, 
As  to  watch  Carlos  when  lie  deems  himself 
From  scrutiny  secure  ?     Who  was  it,  then, 
At  the  last  palace-ball  observed  you  leave 
The  queen,  your  partner,  standing  in  the  dance, 
And  join,  with  eager  haste,  the  neighboring  couple, 
To  offer  to  the  Princess  Eboli 

The  hand  your  royal  partner  should  have  claimed? 
An  error,  prince,  his  majesty  himself, 
Who  just  then  entered  the  apartment,  noticed. 

CARLOS  (with  ironical  smile). 

His  majesty?    And  did  he  really  so? 
Of  all  men  he  should  not  have  seen  it. 

PRINCESS. 

Nor  yet  that  other  scene  within  the  chapel, 
Which  doubtless  Carlos  hath  long  since  forgotten. 
Prostrate  before  the  holy  Virgin's  image, 
You  lay  in  prayer,  when  suddenly  you  heard  — 
'T\vas  not  your  fault  —  a  rustling  from  behind 
Of  ladies'  dresses.     Then  did  Philip's  son, 
A  youth  of  hero  courage,  tremble  like 
A  heretic  before  the  holy  office. 
On  his  pale  lips  died  the  half-uttered  prayer. 
In  ectasy  of  passion,  prince  —  the  scene 
Was  truly  touching  —  for  you  seized  the  hand, 


182  DON   CARLOS. 

The  blessed  Virgin's  cold  and  holy  hand, 

And  showered  your  burning  kisses  on  the  marble. 

CAKLOS. 
Princess,  you  wrong  me :  that  was  pure  devotion ! 

PRINCESS. 

Indeed !  that's  quite  another  thing.     Perhaps 
It  was  the  fear  of  losing,  then,  at  cards, 
When  you  were  seated  with  the  queen  and  me, 
And  you  with  dexterous  skill  purloined  my  glove. 

[CARLOS  starts  surprised. 
That  prompted  you  to  play  it  for  a  card  ? 

CARLOS. 

What  words  are  these  ?  O  Heaven,  what  have  I  done  ? 
PRINCESS. 

Nothing  I  hope  of  which  you  need  repent ! 
How  pleasantly  was  I  surprised  to  find 
Concealed  within  the  glove  a  little  note, 
Full  of  the  warmest  tenderest  romance, 

CARLOS  (interrupting  her  suddenly). 
Mere  poetry  !  no  more.     My  fancy  teems 
With  idle  bubbles  oft,  which  break  as  soon 
As  they  arise — and  this  was  one  of  them; 
So,  prithee,  let  us  talk  of  it  no  more. 

PRINCESS  (leaving  him  with  astonishment,  and  regarding 

him  for  some  time  at  a.  distance. 
I  am  exhausted  —  all  attempts  are  vain 
To  hold  this  youth.     He  still  eludes  my  grasp. 

[Remains  silent  a  few  moments. 
But  stay  !     Perchance  'tis  man's  unbounded  pride, 
That  thus  to  add  a  zest  to  my  delight. 
Assumes  a  mask  of  timid  diffidence. 
'Tis  so. 

[She  approaches  the  PRINCE  again,  and*  looks  at 
Mm  doubtingly. 

Explain  yourself,  prince,  I  entreat  you. 
For  here  I  stand  before  a  magic  casket, 
Which  all  my  keys  are  powerless  to  unlock. 


DON   CARLOS.  183 

CARLOS. 

As  I  before  you  stand. 

PRINCESS  (leaves  him  suddenly,  walks  a  few  steps  up  and 
down  in  silence,  apparently  lost  in  deep  thought.  Ajler 
a  pause,  gravely  and  solemnly). 

Then  thus  at  last  — 

I  must  resolve  to  speak,  and  Carlos,  you 
Shall  be  my  judge.     Yours  is  a  noble  nature, 
You  are  a  prince  —  a  knight  —  a  man  of  honor. 
I  throw  myself  upon  your  heart  —  protect  me : 
Or  if  I'm  lost  beyond  redemption's  power, 
Give  me  your  tears  in  pity  for  my  fate. 

[  The  PRINCE  draws  nearer. 
A  daring  favorite  of  the  king  demands 
My  hand  —  his  name  Ruy  Gomez,  Count  of  Silva, 
The  king  consents  —  the  bargain  has  been  struck, 
And  I  am  sold  already  to  his  creature. 

CARLOS  (with  evident  emotion). 
Sold  !  you  sold  !  Another  bargain,  then, 
Concluded  by  this  royal  southern  trader ! 

PRINCESS. 

No ;  but  hear  all  —  'tis  not  enough  that  I 
Am  sacrificed  to  cold  state  policy, 
A  snare  is  laid  to  entrap  my  innocence. 
Here  is  a  letter  will  unmask  the  saint ! 

[CARLOS  takes  the  paper,  and  without  reading  it 

listens  with  impatience  to  her  recital. 
Where  shall  I  find  protection,  prince?     Till  now 
My  virtue  was  defended  by  my  pride, 

At  length 

CARLOS. 

At  length  you  yielded !     Yielded  ?    No. 
For  God's  sake  say  not  so  ! 

PRINCESS. 

Yielded  !  to  whom  ? 

Poor  piteous  reasoning.     Weak  beyond  contempt 
Your  haughty  minds,  who  hold  a  woman's  favor, 
And  love's  pure  joys,  as  wares  to  traffic  for  ! 


184  DON    CARLOS. 

Love  is  the  only  treasure  on  the  face 
Of  this  wide  earth  that  knows  no  purchaser 
Besides  itself  —  love  has  no  price  but  love. 
It  is  the  costly  gem,  beyond  all  price, 
Which  I  must  freely  give  away,  or  —  bury 
For  ever  unen joyed  —  like  that  proud  merchant 
Whom  not  the  wealth  of  all  the  rich  Kialto 
Could  tempt  —  a  great  rebuke  to  kings  !  to  save 
From  the  deep  ocean  waves  his  matchless  pearl, 
Too  proud  to  barter  it  beneath  its  worth  ! 

CARLOS  (aside). 
Now,  by  great  heaven,  this  woman's  beautiful, 

PRINCESS. 

Call  it  caprice  or  pride,  I  ne'er  will  make 
Division  of  my  joys.     To  him,  alone, 
I  choose  as  mine,  I  give  up  all  forever. 
One  only  sacrifice  I  make ;  but  that 
Shall  be  eternal.     One  true  heart  alone 
My  love  shall  render  happy  :  but  that  one 
I'll  elevate  to  God.     The  keen  delight 
Of  mingling  souls  —  the  kiss  —  the  swimming  joys 
Of  that  delicious  hour  when  lovers  meet, 
The  magic  power  of  heavenly  beauty  —  all 
Are  sister  colors  of  a  single  ray  — 
Leaves  of  one  single  blossom.     Shall  I  tear 
One  petal  from  this  sweet,  this  lovely  flower, 
With  reckless  hand,  and  mar  its  beauteous  chalice? 
Shall  I  degrade  the  dignity  of  woman, 
The  masterpiece  of  the  Almighty's  hand, 
To  charm  the  evening  of  a  reveller  ? 

CARLOS. 

Incredible!  that  in  Madrid  should  dwell 
This  matchless  creature  !  and  unknown  to  me 
Until  this  day. 

PRINCESS. 

Long  since  had  I  forsaken 

This  court  —  the  world  —  and  in  some  blest  retreat 
Immured  myself;  but  one  tie  binds  me  still 
Too  firmly  to  existence.     Perhaps  —  alas ! 


DON    CARLOS.  185 

'Tis  but  a  phantom  —  but  'tis  dear  to  me. 
I  love  —  but  am  not  loved  in  turn. 

CAKLOS  (full  of  ardor,  going  towards  her). 

You  are ! 

As  true  as  God  is  throned  in  heaven  !     I  swear 
You  are  —  you  are  unspeakably  beloved. 

PRINCESS. 

You  swear  it,  you  !  — sure  'twas  an  angel's  voice. 
Oh,  it'  you  swear  it,  Carlos,  I'll  believe  it. 
Then  I  am  truly  loved  ! 

CARLOS  (embracing  her  with  tenderness). 

Bewitching  maid, 
Thou  creature  worthy  of  idolatry  ! 
I  stand  before  thee  now  all  eye,  all  ear, 
All  rapture  and  delight.     What  eye  hath  seen  thee  — 
Under  yon  heaven  what  eye  could  e'er  have  seen  thee, 
And  boast  he  never  loved  ?     What  dost  thou  here 
In  Philip's  royal  court !     Thou  beauteous  angel ! 
Here  amid  monks  and  all  their  princely  train. 
This  is  no  clime  for  such  a  lovely  flower  — 
They  fain  would  rifle  all  thy  sweets — full  well 
I  know  their  hearts.     But  it  shall  never  be  — 
Not  whilst  I  draw  life's  breath.     I  fold  thee  thus 
Within  my  arms,  and  in  these  hands  I'll  bear  thee 
E'en  through  a  hell  replete  with  mocking  fiends. 
Let  me  thy  guardian  angel  prove. 

PRINCESS  (with  a  countenance  full  of  love). 

O  Carlos  ! 

How  little  have  I  known  thee  !  and  how  richly 
With  measureless  reward   thy  heart  repays 
The  weighty  task  of —  comprehending  thee  ! 

[She  takes  his  hand  and  is  about  to  kiss  it. 

CARLOS  (drawing  it  back), 
Princess !    What  mean  you  ? 

PRINCESS  (with  tendernesss  and  grace,  looking  at  his  hand 
attentively). 

Oh,  this  beauteous  hand! 
How  lovely  'tis,  and  rich  !     This  hand  has  yet 


186  DON    CARLOS. 

Two  costly  presents  to  bestow !  —  a  crown  — 
And  Carlos'  heart :  —  and  both  these  gifts  perchance 
Upon  one  mortal!  —  both  on  one  —  Oh,  great 
And  godlike  gift  —  almost  too  much  for  one ! 
How  if  you  share  the  treasure,  prince !     A  queen 
Knows  naught  of  love  —  and  she  who  truly  loves 
Cares  little  for  a  crown !     'Tvvere  better,  prince, 
Then  to  divide  the  treasure  —  and  at  once  — 
What  says  my  prince  ?     Have  you  done  so  already? 
Have  you  in  truth?    And  do  I  know  the  blest  one? 

CARLOS. 

Thou  shalt.     I  will  unfold  myself  to  thee, 

To  thy  unspotted  innocence,  dear  maid, 

Thy  pure,  unblemished  nature.     In  this  court 

Thou  art  the  worthiest  —  first  —  the  only  one 

To  whom  this  soul  has  stood  revealed.     Then,  yes  I 

I  will  not  now  conceal  it  —  yes,  I  love ! 

PRINCESS. 

Oh,  cruel  heart!  Does  this  avowal  prove 
So  painful  to  thee  ?  Must  I  first  deserve 
Thy  pity —  ere  I  hope  to  win  thy  love? 

CAKLOS  (starting). 
What  say'st  thou  ? 

PRINCESS. 

So  to  trifle  with  me,  prince ! 
Indeed  it  was  not  well  —  and  to  deny 
The  key ! 

CARLOS. 

The  key !  the  key !     Oh  yes,  'tis  so  ! 

\_After  a  dead  silence. 
I  see  it  all  too  plainly !     Gracious  heaven ! 

[His  knees  totter,  he  leans  against  a  chair,  and  covers 
his  face  with  his  hands.  A  long  silence  on  both 
sides.  The  PRINCESS  screams  and  falls. 

PRINCESS. 

Oh,  horrible !     What  have  I  done ! 


DON   CARLOS.  187 

CARLOS. 

Hurled  down 
So  far  from  all  my  heavenly  joys !     'Tis  dreadful ! 

PRINCESS  (hiding  her  face  in  the  cushion). 
Oh,  God  !    What  have  I  said  ? 

CARLOS  (kneeling  before  her). 

I  am  not  guilty. 

My  passion  —  an  unfortunate  mistake  — 
By  heaven,  I  am  not  guilty  — 

PRINCESS  (pushing  him  from  her). 

Out  of  my  sight, 
For  heaven's  sake ! 

CARLOS. 

No,  I  will  not  leave  thee  thus. 
In  this  dread  anguish  leave  thee 

PRINCESS  (pushing  him  forcibly  away). 

Oh,  in  pity  — 

For  mercy's  sake,  away  —  out  of  my  sight ! 
Wouldst  thou  destroy  me?    How  I  hate  thy  presence! 

[CARLOS  going. 

Give,  give  me  back  the  letter  and  the  key. 
Where  is  the  other  letter  ? 

CARLOS. 

The  other  letter  ? 
What  other  ? 

PRINCESS. 

That  from  the  king,  to  me 

CARLOS  (terrified). 

From  whom? 
PRINCESS. 

The  one  I  just  now  gave  you. 

CARLOS. 

From  the  king ! 
To  you! 


188  DON    CARLOS. 

PRINCESS. 

Oh,  heavens,  how  dreadfully  have  I 
Involved  myself !     The  letter,  sir !     I  must 
Have  it  again. 

CARLOS. 

The  letter  from  the  king ! 
To  you ! 

PRINCESS. 

The  letter !  give  it,  I  implore  you 
By  all  that's  sacred !  give  it. 

CARLOS. 

What,  the  letter 
That  will  unmask  the  saint !     Is  this  the  letter  ? 

PRINCESS. 
Now  I'm  undone !     Quick,  give  it  me 

CARLOS. 

The  letter 

PRINCESS  (wringing  her  hands  in  despair). 
What  have  I  done  ?    O  dreadful,  dire  imprudence ! 

CARLOS. 

This  letter  comes,  then,  from  the  king !     Princess, 
That  changes  all  indeed,  and  quickly,  too. 
This  letter  is  beyond  all  value  —  priceless! 
All  Philip's  crowns  are  worthless,  and  too  poor 
To  win  it  from  my  hands.     I'll  keep  this  letter. 

PRINCESS  (throwing  herself  prostrate  before  him  as 

he  is  going). 
Almighty  Heaven  !  then  I  am  lost  forever. 

{Exit  CARLOS, 

SCENE  IX. 
The  PRINCESS  alone. 

She  seems  overcome  with  surprise,  and  is  confounded. 
After  CARLOS'  departure  she  hastens  to  call  him  back. 

PRINCESS. 

Prince,  but  one  word  !     Prince,  hear  me.     He  is  gone. 
And  this,  too,  I  am  doomed  to  bear  —  his  scorn  \ 


DON  CAELOS.  189 

And  I  am  left  in  lonely  wretchedness, 
Rejected  and  despised ! 

[Sinks  down  upon  a  chair.     After  a  pause  — 

And  yet  not  so ; 

I'm  but  displaced  — supplanted  by  some  wanton. 
He  loves !  of  that  no  longer  doubt  is  left ; 
He  has  himself  confessed  it  —  but  my  rival  — 
Who  can  she  be?     Happy,  thrice  happy  one! 
This  much  stands  clear :  he  loves  where  he  should  not 
He  dreads  discovery,  and  from  the  king 
He  hides  his  guilty  passion  !     Why  from  him 
Who  would  so  gladly  hail  it?     Or,  is  it  not 
The  father  that  he  dreads  so  in  the  parent? 
When  the  king's  wanton  purpose  was  disclosed, 
His  features  glowed  witli  triumph,  boundless  joy 
Flashed  in  his  eyes,  his  rigid  virtue  fled ; 
Why  was  it  mute  in  such  a  cause  as  this? 
Why  should  he  triumph?    What  hath  he  to  gain 

If  Philip  to  his  queen 

[She  stops  suddenly,  as  if  struck  by  a  thought, 
then  drawing  hastily  from  her  bosom  the  rib- 
bon which  she  had  taken  from  CARLOS,  she 
seems  to  recognize  it. 

Fool  that  I  am ! 

At  length  'tis  plain.     Where  have  my  senses  been  ? 
My  eyes  are  opened  now.     They  loved  each  other 
Long  before  Philip  wooed  her,  and  the  prince 
Ne'er  saw  me  but  with  her !     She,  she  alone 
Was  in  his  thoughts  when  I  believed  myself 
The  object  of  his  true  and  boundless  love. 
O  matchless  error !  and  have  I  betrayed 
My  weakness  to  her  ?  [Pauses. 

Should  his  love  prove  hopeless? 
Who  can  believe  it  ?    Would  a  hopeless  love 
Persist  in  such  a  struggle  ?    Called  to  revel 
In  joys  for  which  a  monarch  sighs  in  vain ! 
A  hopeless  love  makes  no  such  sacrifice. 
What  fire  was  in  his  kiss  !     How  tenderly 
He  pressed  my  bosom  to  his  beating  heart! 
Well  nigh  the  trial  had  proved  dangerous 
To  his  romantic,  unrequited  passion! 


190  DON   CARLOS. 

With  joy  he  seized  the  key  he  fondly  thought 

The  queen  had  sent:  —  in  this  gigantic  stride 

Of  love  he  puts  full  credence  —  and  he  comes  — 

In  very  truth  conies  here — and  so  imputes 

To  Philip's  wife  a  deed  so  madly  rash. 

And  would  he  so,  had  love  not  made  him  bold  ? 

'Tis  clear  as  day  — his  suit  is  heard  —  she  loves! 

By  heaven,  this  saintly  creature  burns  with  passion ; 

How  subtle,  too,  she  is  !     With  fear  I  trembled 

Before  this  lofty  paragon  of  virtue  ! 

She  towered  beside  me,  an  exalted  being, 

And  in  her  beams  I  felt  myself  eclipsed  ; 

I  envied  her  the  lovely,  cloudless  calm, 

That  kept  her  soul  from  earthly  tumults  free. 

And  was  this  soft  serenity  but  show  ? 

Would  she  at  both  feasts  revel,  holding  up 

Her  virtue's  godlike  splendor  to  our  gaze, 

And  riot  in  the  secret  joys  of  vice  ? 

And  shall  the  false  dissembler  cozen  thus, 

And  win  a  safe  immunity  from  this 

That  no  avenger  comes  ?    By  heavens  she  shall  not ! 
I  once  adored  her,  —  that  demands  revenge:  — 
The  king  shall  know  her  treachery  —  the  king  ! 

[After  a  pause. 
'Tis  the  sure  way  to  win  the  monarch's  ear !         \_Exit. 

SCENE  X. 

A  chamber  in  the  royal  palace. 
DUKE  OF  ALVA,  FATHER  DOMINGO. 

DOMINGO. 
Something  to  tell  me ! 

ALVA. 

Ay  !  a  thing  of  moment, 
Of  which  I  made  discovery  to-day, 
And  I  would  have  your  judgment  on  it. 

DOMINGO. 

How! 
Discovery !    To  what  do  you  allude  ? 


DON  CARLOS.  191 

ALVA. 

Prince  Carlos  and  myself  this  morning  met 

In  the  queen's  antechamber.     I  received 

An  insult  from  him  —  we  were  both  in  heat  — 

The  strife  grew  loud  —  and  we  had  drawn  our  swords. 

Alarmed,  from  her  apartments  rushed  the  queen. 

She  stepped  between  us,  —  with  commanding  eye 

Of  conscious  power,  she  looked  upon  the  prince. 

'Twas  but  a  single  glance,  —  but  his  arm  dropped, 

He  fell  upon  my  bosom  — gave  me  then 

A  warm  embrace,  and  vanished. 

DOMIXGO  (after  a  pause). 

This  seems  strange. 

It  brings  a  something  to  my  mind,  my  lord  ! 
And  thoughts  like  these  I  own  have  often  sprung 
Within  my  breast ;  but  I  avoid  such  fancies  — 
To  no  one  have  I  e'er  confided  them. 
There  are  such  things  as  double-edged  swords 
And  untrue  friends,  —  I  fear  them  both.     'Tis  hard 
To  judge  among  mankind,  but  still  more  hard 
To  know  them  thoroughly.     Words  slipped  at  random 
Are  confidants  offended  — therefore  I 
Buried  my  secret  in  my  breast,  till  time 
Should  drag  it  forth  to  light.     'Tis  dangerous 
To  render  certain  services  to  kings. 
They  are  the  bolts,  which  if  they  miss  the  mark, 
Recoil  upon  the  archer !     I  could  swear 
Upon  the  sacrament  to  what  I  saw. 
Yet  one  eye-witness  —  one  word  overheard  — 
A  scrap  of  paper  —  would  weigh  heavier  far 
Than  my  most  strong  conviction  !     Cursed  fate 
That  we  are  here  in  Spain  ! 

ALVA. 

And  why  in  Spain? 
DOMIXGO. 

There  is  a  chance  in  every  court  but  this 
For  passion  to  forget  itself,  and  fall. 
Here  it  is  warned  by  ever-wakeful  laws. 
Our  Spanish  queens  would  find  it  hard  to  sin-* 


192  DON    CARLOS. 

And  only  there  do  they  meet  obstacles, 

Where  best  'twould  serve  our  purpose  to  surprise  them. 

ALVA. 

But  listen  further :  Carlos  had  to-day 
An  audience  of  the  king;  the  interview 
Lusted  an  hour,  and  earnestly  he  sought 
The  government  of  Flanders  for  himself. 
Loudly  he  begged,  and  fervently.     I  heard  him 
In  the  adjoining  cabinet.     His  eyes 
Were  red  with  tears  when  I  encountered  him. 
At  noon  he  wore  a  look  of  lofty  triumph, 
And  vowed  his  joy  at  the  king's  choice  of  me. 
He  thanked  the  king.     "Matters  are  changed,"  he  said, 
"And  things  go  better  now."     He's  no  dissembler: 
How  shall  I  reconcile  such  contradictions? 
The  prince  exults  to  see  himself  rejected, 
And  I  receive  a  favor  from  the  king 
With  marks  of  anger!     What  must  I  believe? 
In  truth  this  new-born  dignity  doth  sound 
Much  more  like  banishment  than  royal  favor! 

DOMIXGO. 

And  is  it  come  to  this  at  last  ?  to  this  ? 
And  has  one  moment  crumbled  into  dust 
What  cost  us  years  to  build  ?    And  you  so  calm, 
So  perfectly  at  ease !     Know  you  this  youth  ? 
Do  you  foresee  the  fate  we  may  expect 
Should  he  attain  to  power?     The  prince!     No  foe 
Am  I  of  his.     Far  other  cares  than  these 
Gnaw  at  my  rest  —  cares  for  the  throne  —  for  God, 
And  for  his  holy  church!     The  royal  prince  — 
(I  know  him,  I  can  penetrate  his  soul), 
Mas  formed  a  horrible  design,  Toledo  ! 
The  wild  design  —  to  make  himself  the  regent, 
And  set  aside  our  pure  and  sacred  faith. 
His  bosom  glows  with  some  new-fangled  virtue, 
Which,  proud  and  self-sufficient,  scorns  to  rest 
For  strength  on  any  creed.     He  dares  to  think ! 
His  brain  is  all  on  fire  with  wild  chimeras; 
He  reverences  the  people !     And  is  this 
A  man  to  be  our  king? 


DON    CARLOS.  193 

ALVA. 

Fantastic  dreams ! 

No  more.     A  boy's  ambition,  too,  perchance 
To  play  some  lofty  part!     What  can  he  less? 
These  thoughts  will  vanish  when  he's  called  to  rule. 

DOMINGO. 

I  doubt  it !     Of  his  freedom  he  is  proud, 
And  scorns  those  strict  restraints  all  men  must  bear 
Who  hope  to  govern  others.     Would  he  suit 
Our  throne  ?     His  bold  gigantic  mind 

O    O 

Would  burst  the  barriers  of  our  policy. 

In  vain  I  sought  to  enervate  his  soul 

In  the  loose  joys  of  this  voluptuous  age. 

He  stood  the  trial.     Fearful  is  the  spirit 

That  rules  this  youth ;  and  Philip  soon  will  see 

His  sixtieth  year. 

ALVA. 
Your  vision  stretches  far  I 

DOMINGO. 

He  and  the  queen  are  both  alike  in  this. 
Already  works,  concealed  in  either  breast, 
The  poisonous  wish  for  change  and  innovation. 
Give  it  but  way,  'twill  quickly  reach  the  throne. 
I  know  this  Valois !     We  may  tremble  for 
The  secret  vengeance  of  this  quiet  foe 
If  Philip's  weakness  hearken  to  her  voice ! 
Fortune  so  far  hath  smiled  upon  us.     Now 
We  must  anticipate  the  foe,  and  both 
Shall  fall  together  in  one  fatal  snare. 
Let  but  a  hint  of  such  a  thing  be  dropped 
Before  the  king,  proved  or  unproved,  it  recks  not 
Our  point  is  gained  if  he  but  waver.     We 
Ourselves  have  not  a  doubt ;  and  once  convinced, 
'Tis  easy  to  convince  another's  mind. 
Be  sure  we  shall  discover  more  if  we 
Start  with  the  faith  that  more  remains  concealed. 

ALVA. 

But  soft !     A  vital  question  !     Who  is  he 
Will  undertake  the  task  to  tell  the  king? 


194  DON    CARLOS. 

DOMINGO. 

Nor  you,  nor  I !     Now  shall  you  learn,  what  long 

My  busy  spirit,  full  of  its  design,     . 

Has  been  at  work  with,  to  achieve  its  ends. 

Still  is  there  wanting  to  complete  our  league 

A  third  important  personage.     The  king 

Loves  the  young  Princess  Eboli  —  and  I 

Foster  this  passion  for  my  own  designs. 

I  am  his  go-between.     She  shall  be  schooled 

Into  our  plot.     If  my  plan  fail  me  not, 

In  this  young  lady  shall  a  close  ally  — 

A  very  queen,  bloom  for  us.     She  herself 

Asked  me,  but  now,  to  meet  her  in  this  chamber. 

I'm  full  of  hope.     And  in  one  little  night 

A  Spanish  maid  may  blast  this  Valois  lily. 

ALVA. 

What  do  you  say!     Can  I  have  heard  aright? 
By  Heaven  !     I'm  all  amazement.     Compass  this, 
And  I'll  bow  down  to  thee,  Dominican  ! 
The  day's  our  own. 

DOMINGO. 

Soft !    Some  one  comes :  'tis  she  — « 
'Tis  she  herself  1 

ALVA. 
Fm  in  the  adjoining  room 

If  you  should 

DOMINGO. 
Be  it  so :  I'll  call  you  in.     [Exit  ALVA. 

SCENE  XI. 
PRINCESS,  DOMINGO. 

DOMINGO. 
At  your  command,  princess. 

PRINCESS. 

We  are  perhaps 
Not  quite  alone  ?  \JLooking  inquisitively  after  the  DUKE. 

You  have,  as  I  observe, 
A  witness  still  by  you. 


DON    CARLOS.  195 

DOMINGO. 

How? 

PRINCESS. 

Who  was  he, 
That  left  your  side  but  now  ? 

DOMINGO. 

It  was  Duke  Alva. 

Most  gracious  princess,  he  requests  you  will 
Admit  him  to  an  audience  after  me. 

PRINCESS. 

Duke  Alva !     How  ?    What  can  he  want  with  me  ? 
You  can,  perhaps,  inform  me? 

DOMINGO. 

I?  — and  that 

Before  I  learn  to  what  important  chance 
I  owe  the  favor,  long  denied,  to  stand 
Before  the  Princess  Eboli  once  more  ? 

[Pauses  awaiting  her  answer. 
Has  any  circumstance  occured  at  last 
To  favor  the  king's  wishes  ?     Have  my  hopes 
Been  not  in  vain,  that  more  deliberate  thought 
Would  reconcile  you  to  an  offer  which 
Caprice  alone  and  waywardness  could  spurn? 
I  seek  your  presence  full  of  expectation 

PRINCESS. 

Was  my  last  answer  to  the  king  conveyed  ? 
DOMINGO. 

I  have  delayed  to  inflict  this  mortal  wound. 
There  still  is  time,  it  rests  with  you,  princess, 
To  mitigate  its  rigor. 

PRINCESS. 

Tell  the  king 
That  I  expect  him. 

DOMINGO. 

May  I,  lovely  princess, 
Indeed  accept  this  as  your  true  reply? 


196  DON    CARLOS. 


PRINCESS. 

I  do  not  jest.     By  heaven,  you  make  me  tremble ! 
What  have  I  done  to  make  e'en  you  grow  pale  ? 

DOMINGO. 

Nay,  lady,  this  surprise  —  so  sudden  —  I 
Can  scarcely  comprehend  it. 

PRINCESS. 

Reverend  sir ! 

You  shall  not  comprehend  it.     Not  for  all 
The  world  would  1  you  comprehended  it. 
Enough  for  you  it  is  so  —  spare  yourself 
The  trouble  to  investigate  in  thought, 
Whose  eloquence  hath  wrought  this  wondrous  change. 
But  for  your  comfort  let  me  add,  you  have 
No  hand  in  this  misdeed,  —  nor  has  the  church. 
Although  you've  proved  that  cases  might  arise 
Wherein  the  church,  to  gain  some  noble  end, 
Might  use  the  persons  of  her  youthful  daughters ! 
Such  reasonings  move  not  me  ;  such  motives,  pure, 
Right  reverend  sir,  are  far  too  high  for  me. 

• 

DOMINGO. 

When  they  become  superfluous,  your  grace, 
I  willingly  retract  them. 

PRINCESS. 

Seek  the  king, 

And  ask  him  as  from  me,  that  he  will  not 
Mistake  me  in  this  business.     What  I  have  been 
That  am  I  still.     'Tis  but  the  course  of  things 
Has  changed.      When  I  in  anger  spurned  his  suit, 
I  decMned  him  truly  happy  in  possessing 
Earth's  fairest  queen.     I  thought  his  faithful  wife 
Deserved  my  sacrifice.     1  thought  so  then, 
But  now  I'm  undeceived. 

DOMINGO. 

Princess,  go  on ! 
I  hear  it  all  —  we  understand  each  other. 


DON  CARLOS.  197 

PKINCESS. 

Enough.     She  is  found  out.     I  will  not  spare  her. 

The  hypocrite's  unmasked  !     She  has  deceived 

The  kiug,  all  Spain,  and  me.     She  loves,  I  know 

She  loves !   I  can  bring  proofs  that  w  ill  make  you  tremble. 

The  king  has  been  deceived  —  but  he  shall  not, 

By  heaven,  go  unrevenged  !     The  saintly  mask 

Of  pure  and  superhuman  self-denial 

I'll  tear  from  her  deceitful  brow,  that  all 

May  see  the  forehead  of  the  shameless  sinner. 

'Twill  cost  me  dear,  but  here  my  triumph  lies, 

That  it  will  cost  her  infinitely  more. 

DOMINGO. 

Now  all  is  ripe,  let  me  call  in  the  duke. 

[  Goes  out. 
PRINCESS  (astonished). 

What  means  all  this  ? 

SCENE  XII. 
The  PBINCESS,  DUKE  ALVA,  DOMINGO. 

DOMINGO  (leading  the  DUKE  in). 

Our  tidings,  good  my  lord, 
Come  somewhat  late.     The  Princess  Eboli 
Reveals  to  us  a  secret  we  had  meant 
Ourselves  to  impart  to  her. 

ALVA. 

My  visit,  then, 

Will  not  so  much  surprise  her,  but  I  never 
Trust  my  own  eyes  in  these  discoveries. 
They  need  a  woman's  more  discerning  glance. 

PRINCESS. 
Discoveries !     How  mean  you  ? 

DOMINGO. 

Would  we  knew 
What  place  and  fitter  season  you 


198  DON   CARLOS. 


PRINCESS. 

Just  so! 

To-morrow  noon  I  will  expect  you  both. 
Reasons  I  have  why  this  clandestine  guilt 
Should  from  the  king  no  longer  be  concealed. 

ALVA. 

'Tis  this  that  brings  us  here.      The  king  must  know  it 
And  he  shall  hear  the  news  from  you,  princess, 
From  you  alone  :  —  for  to  what  tongue  would  he 
Afford  such  ready  credence  as  to  yours, 
Friend  and  companion  ever  of  his  spouse? 

DOMINGO. 

As  yours,  who  more  than  any  one  at  will 
Can  o'er  him  exercise  supreme  command. 

.     ALVA. 

I  am  the  prince's  open  enemy. 
DOMINGO. 

And  that  is  what  the  world  believes  of  me. 

The  Princess  Eboli's  above  suspicion. 

We  are  compelled  to  silence,  but  your  duty, 

The  duty  of  your  office,  calls  on  you 

To  speak.     The  king  shall  not  escape  our  hands. 

Let  your  hints  rouse  him,  we'll  complete  the  work. 

ALVA. 

It  must  be  done  at  once,  without  delay ; 
Each  moment  now  is  precious.     In  an  hour 
The  order  may  arrive  for  my  departure. 

DOMINGO  (after  a  short  pause,  turns  to  the  PRINCESS). 

Cannot  some  letters  be  discovered  ?    Truly, 
An  intercepted  letter  from  the  prince 

Would  work  with  rare  effect.     Ay !  let  me  see 

Is  it  not  so?    You  sleep,  princess,  I  think, 
In  the  same  chamber  with  her  majesty? 

PRINCESS. 
The  next  to  hers.     But  of  what  use  is  that? 


DON    CARLOS.  199 

DOMINGO. 

Oh,  for  some  skill  in  locks !     Have  you  observed 
Where  she  is  wont  to  keep  her  casket  key  ? 

PRINCESS  (in  thought). 

Yes,  that  might  lead  to  something;  yes,  I  think 
The  key  is  to  be  found. 

DOMINGO. 

Letters,  you  know, 

Need  messengers.     Her  retinue  is  large ; 
Who  do  you  think  could  put  us  on  the  scent  ? 
Gold  can  do  much. 

ALVA. 

Can  no  one  tell  us  whether 
The  prince  has  any  trusty  confidant  ? 

DOMINGO. 
Not  one ;  in  all  Madrid  not  one. 

ALVA. 

That's  strange ! 
DOMINGO. 

Rely  on  me  in  this.     He  holds  in  scorn 
The  universal  court.    I  have  my  proofs. 

ALVA. 

Stay !     It  occurs  to  me,  as  I  was  leaving 
The  queen's  apartments,  I  beheld  the  prince 
In  private  conference  with  a  page  of  hers. 

PRINCESS  (suddenly  interrupting). 
O  no !  that  must  have  been  of  something  else. 

DOMINGO. 

Could  we  not  ascertain  the  fact?     It  seems 
Suspicious.  [  To  the  DUKE. 

Did  you  know  the  page,  my  lord  ! 

PRINCESS. 

Some  trifle ;  what  else  could  it  be  ?    Enough, 
I'm  sure  of  that.     So  we  shall  meet  again 
Before  I  see  the  king ;  and  by  that  time 
We  may  discover  much. 


200  DON    CARLOS. 

DOMINGO  (leading  her  aside). 

What  of  the  king? 

Say,  may  he  hope  ?  May  I  assure  him  so  ? 
And  the  entrancing  hour  which  shall  fulfil 
His  fond  desires,  what  shall  I  say  of  that  ? 

PRINCESS. 

In  a  few  days  I  will  feign  sickness,  and 
Shall  be  excused  from  waiting  on  the  queen. 
Such  is,  you  know,  the  custom  of  the  court, 
And  I  may  then  remain  in  my  apartment. 

DOMINGO. 

"Pis  well  devised !     Now  the  great  game  is  won, 
And  we  may  bid  defiance  to  all  queens ! 

PRINCESS. 

Hark  !  I  am  called.    I  must  attend  the  queen, 
So  fare  you  well.  \JExit, 

SCENE  XIII. 
ALVA  and  DOMINGO. 

DOMINGO  {after  a  pause,  during  which  he  has  watched 
the  PRINCESS). 

My  lord !  these  roses,  and 

Your  battles 

ALVA. 

And  your  God  —  why,  even  so ! 
Thus  we'll  await  the  lightning  that  shall  scathe  us ! 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE  XIV. 

A  Carthusian  Convent. 

DON  CARLOS  and  the  PRIOR. 

CARLOS  (to  the  PRIOR,  as  he  comes  in). 

Been  here  already  ?    I  am  sorry  for  it. 

PRIOR. 

Yes,  thrice  since  morning.     'Tis  about  an  hour 
Since  he  went  hence. 


DON   CARLOS.  201 

CARLOS. 

But  he  will  sure  return. 
Has  he  not  left  some  message  ? 

PRIOR. 

Yes;  he  promised 
To  come  again  at  noon. 

CARLOS  (going  to  a  window,  and  looking  round  the 
country). 

Your  convent  lies 

Far  from  the  public  road.     Yonder  are  seen 
The  turrets  of  Madrid — just  so  —  and  there 
The  Mansanares  flows.     The  scenery  is 
Exactly  to  my  wish,  and  all  around 
Is  calm  and  still  as  secrecy  itself. 

PRIOR. 

Or  as  the  entrance  to  another  world. 

CARLOS. 

Most  worthy  sir,  to  your  fidelity 
And  honor,  have  I  now  intrusted  all 
I  hold  most  dear  and  sacred  in  the  world. 
No  mortal  man  must  know,  or  even  suspect, 
With  whom  I  here  hold  secret  assignation. 
Most  weighty  reasons  prompt  me  to  deny, 
To  all  the  world,  the  friend  whom  I  expect, 
There-fore  I  choose  this  convent.     Are  we  safe 
From  traitors  and  surprise  ?    You  recollect 
What  you  have  sworn. 

PRIOR. 

Good  sir,  rely  on  us. 

A  king's  suspicion  cannot  pierce  the  grave, 
And  curious  ears  haunts  only  those  resorts 
Where  wealth  and  passion  dwell  —  but  from  these  walls 
The  world's  forever  banished. 

CARLOS. 

You  may  think, 

Perhaps,  beneath  this  seeming  fear  and  caution 
There  lies  a  guilty  conscience  ? 


202  DON   CARLOS. 

PRIOR. 

I  think  nothing. 
CARLOS. 

If  you  imagine  this,  most  holy  father, 

You  err  —  indeed  you  err.     My  secret  shuns 

The  sight  of  man  —  but  not  the  eye  of  God. 

PRIOR. 

Such  things  concern  us  little.     This  retreat 
To  guilt,  and  innocence  alike,  is  open, 
And  whether  thy  designs  be  good  or  ill, 
Thy  purpose  criminal  or  virtuous,  —  that 
We  leave  to  thee  to  settle  with  thy  heart. 

CARLOS  (with  warmth). 

Our  purpose  never  can  disgrace  your  God. 
'Tis  his  own  noblest  work.     To  you  indeed, 
I  may  reveal  it. 

PRIOR. 

To  what  end,  I  pray  ? 

Forego,  dear  prince,  this  needless  explanation. 
The  world  and  all  its  troubles  have  been  long 
Shut  from  my  thoughts —  in  preparation  for 
My  last  long  journey.     Why  recall  them  to  me 
For  the  brief  space  that  must  precede  my  death  ? 
'Tis  little  for  salvation  that  we  need  — 
But  the  bell  rings,  and  summons  me  to  prayer. 

[Exit  PRIOR. 

SCENE  XV. 
DON  CARLOS  ;  the  MARQUIS  POSA  enters. 

CARLOS. 
At  length  once  more,  —  at  length 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  what  a  trial 

For  the  impatience  of  a  friend  !     The  sun 
Has  risen  twice  —  twice  set  —  since  Carlos'  fate 
Has  been  resolved,  and  am  I  only  now 
To  learn  it :  speak,  —  you're  reconciled  ! 


DON   CARLOS. 
CARLOS. 

With  whom  ? 

MARQUIS. 

The  king !     And  Flanders,  too,  —  its  fate  is  settled  ! 

CARLOS. 

The  duke  sets  out  to-morrow.     That  is  fixed 

MARQUIS. 

That  cannot  be  —  it  is  not  surely  so. 

Can  all  Madrid  be  so  deceived?     'Tis  said 

You  had  a  private  audience,  and  the  king 


CARLOS. 

Remained  inflexible,  and  we  are  now 
Divided  more  than  ever. 

MARQUIS. 

Do  you  go 
To  Flanders  ? 

CARLOS. 

No! 

MARQUIS. 

Alas!  my  blighted  hopes! 

CARLOS. 

Of  this  hereafter.     Oh,  Roderigo  !  since 
We  parted  last,  what  have  I  not  endured  ? 
But  first  thy  counsel?     I  must  speak  with  her! 

MARQUIS. 
Your  mother?    No!     But  wherefore? 

CARLOS. 

I  have  hopes 

But  you  turn  pale !     Be  calm  —  I  should  be  happy. 
And  I  shall  be  so :  but  of  this  anon  — 
Advise  me  now,  how  I  may  speak  with  her. 

MARQUIS. 
What  mean  you  ?     What  new  feverish  dream  is  this  ? 


204  DON    CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 
By  the  great  God  of  wonders  'tis  no  dream ! 

'Tis  truth,  reality 

[  Taking  out  the  KING'S  letter  to  the  PRINCESS  EBOLI. 

Contained  in  this 

Important  paper — yes,  the  queen  is  free,  — 
Free  before  men  and  in  the  eyes  of  heaven ; 
There  read,  and  cease  to  wonder  at  my  words. 

MARQUIS  (opening  the  letter). 
What  do  I  here  behold  ?    The  king's  own  hand ! 

[After  he  has  read  it. 
To  whom  addressed  ? 

CARLOS. 

To  Princess  Eboli. 

Two  days  ago,  a  page  who  serves  the  queen, 
Brought  me,  from  unknown  hands,  a  key  and  letter, 
Which  said  that  in  the  left  wing  of  the  palace, 
Where  the  queen  lodges,  lay  a  cabinet,  — 
That  there  a  lady  whom  I  long  had  loved 
Awaited  me.     I  straight  obeyed  the  summons. 

MARQUIS. 
Fool !  madman !  you  obeyed  it 

CARLOS. 

Not  that  I 

The  writing  knew ;  but  there  was  only  one 
Such  woman,  who  could  think  herself  adored 
By  Carlos.     With  delight  intoxicate 
I  hastened  to  the  spot.     A  heavenly  song, 
Re-echoing  from  the  innermost  apartment, 
Served  me  for  guide.     I  reached  the  cabinet  — 
I  entered  and  beheld  —  conceive  my  wonder ! 

MARQUIS. 

1  guess  it  all 

CARLOS. 

I  had  been  lost  forever, 
But  that  I  fell  into  an  angel's  hands ! 
She,  hapless  chance,  by  my  imprudent  looks, 
Deceived,  had  yielded  to  the  sweet  delusion 


DON    CARLOS.  205 

And  deemed  herself  the  idol  of  my  soul. 
Moved  by  the  silent  anguish  of  my  breast, 
With  thoughtless  generosity,  her  heart 
Nobly  determined  to  return  my  love ; 
Deeming  respectful  fear  had  caused  my  silence, 
She  dared  to  speak,  and  all  her  lovely  soul 
Laid  bare  before  me. 

MARQUIS. 

And  with  calm  composure, 
You  tell  this  tale  !     The  Princess  Eboli 
Saw  through  your  heart ;  and  doubtless  she  has  pierced 
The  inmost  secret  of  your  hidden  love. 
You've  wronged  her  deeply,  and  she  rules  the  king. 

CARLOS  (confidently). 

But  she  is  virtuous ! 

MARQUIS. 

She  may  be  so 

From  love's  mere  selfishness.     But  much  I  fear 
Such  virtue  —  well  I  know  it :  know  how  little 
It  hath  the  power  to  soar  to  that  ideal, 
Which,  first  conceived  in  sweet  and  stately  grace, 
From  the  pure  soul's  maternal  soil,  puts  forth 
Spontaneous  shoots,  nor  asks  the  gardener's  aid 
To  nurse  its  lavish  blossoms  into  life. 
'Tis  but  a  foreign  plant,  with  labor  reared, 
And  warmth  that  poorly  imitates  the  south, 
In  a  cold  soil  and  an  unfriendly  clime. 
Call  it  what  name  you  will  —  or  education, 

Or  principle,  or  artificial  virtue 

Won  from  the  heat  of  youth  by  art  and  cunning, 

In  conflicts  manifold  —  all  noted  down 

With  scrupulous  reckoning  to  that  heaven's  account, 

Which  is  its  aim,  and  will  requite  its  pains. 

Ask  your  own  heart !     Can  she  forgive  the  queen 

That  you  should  scorn  her  dearly-purchased  virtue, 

To  pine  in  hopeless  love  for  Philip's  wife. 

CARLOS. 
Knowest  thou  the  princess,  then,  so  well  ? 


206  DON   CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

Not  I  — 

I've  scarcely  seen  her  twice.     And  yet  thus  much 
I  may  remark.     To  me  she  still  appears 
To  shun  alone  the  nakedness  of  vice, 
Too  weakly  proud  of  her  imagined  virtue. 
And  then  I  mark  the  queen.     How  different,  Carlos, 
Is  everything  that  I  behold  in  her ! 
In  native  dignity,  serene  and  calm, 
Wearing  a  careless  cheerfulness  —  unschooled 
In  all  the  trained  restraints  of  conduct,  far 
Removed  from  boldness  and  timidity, 
With  firm,  heroic  step,  she  walks  along 
The  narrow  middle  path  of  rectitude, 
Unconscious  of  the  worship  she  compels, 
Where  she  of   self-approval  never  dreamed. 
Say,  does  my  Carlos  in  this  mirror  trace 
The  features  of  his  Eboli  ?    The  princess 
Was  constant  while  she  loved ;  love  was  the  price, 
The  understood  condition  of  her  virtue. 
You  failed  to  pay  that  price  —  'twill  therefore  fall. 

CARLOS  (with  warmth). 
No,  no  !  [  Hastily  pacing  the  apartment, 

I  tell  thee,  no !     And,  Roderigo, 
111  it  becomes  thee  thus  to  rob  thy  Carlos 
Of  his  high  trust  in  human  excellence, 
His  chief,  his  dearest  joy ! 

MARQUIS. 

Deserve  I  this? 

Friend  of  my  soul,  this  would  I  never  do  — 
By  heaven  I  would  not.     Oh,  this  Eboli ! 
She  were  an  angel  to  me,  and  before 
Her  glory  would  I  bend  me  prostrate  down, 
In  reverence  deep  as  thine,  if  she  were  not 
The  mistress  of  thy  secret. 

CARLOS. 

See  how  vain, 

How  idle  are  thy  fears !     What  proofs  has  she 
That  will  not  stamp  her  maiden  brow  with  shame? 


DON  CARLOS.  207 

Say,  will  she  purchase  with  her  own  dishonor 
The  wretched  satisfaction  of  revenge  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Ay  !  to  recall  a  blush,  full  many  a  one 
Has  doomed  herself  to  infamy. 

CARLOS  (with  increased  vehemence). 

Nay,  that 

Is  far  too  harsh  —  and  cruel !     She  is  proud 
And  noble ;  well  I  know  her,  and  fear  nothing. 
Vain  are  your  efforts  to  alarm  my  hopes. 
I  must  speak  to  my  mother. 

MARQUIS. 

Now  ?  for  what  ? 

CARLOS. 

Because  I've  nothing  more  to  care  for  now. 
And  I  must  know  my  fate.  Only  contrive 
That  I  may  speak  with  her. 

MARQUIS. 

And  wilt  thou  show 
This  letter  to  her? 

CARLOS. 

Question  me  no  more, 
But  quickly  find  the  means  that  I  may  see  her. 

MARQUIS  (significantly). 

Didst  thou  not  tell  me  that  thou  lov'st  thy  mother? 
And  wouldst  thou  really  show  this  letter  to  her? 

[CARLOS  fixes  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  remains 

silent. 

I  read  a  something,  Carlos,  in  thy  looks 
Unknown  to  me  before.     Thou  turn'st  thine  eyes 
Away  from  me.     Then  it  is  true,  and  have  I 
Judged  thee  aright  ?     Here,  let  me  see  that  paper. 

[CARLOS  gives  him  the  letter,  and  the  MARQUIS  tears  it. 

CARLOS. 

What !  art  thou  mad  ?  [Moderating  his  warmth. 

In  truth  —  I  must  confess  it, — 
That  letter  was  of  deepest  moment  to  me. 


208  DON    CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

So  it  appeared :  on  that  account  I  tore  it. 

[  The  MARQUIS  casts  a  penetrating  look  on  the  PRINCE, 

who  surveys  him  with  doubt  and  surprise.    A  long 

silence. 

Now  speak  to  me  with  candor,  Carlos.     What 
Have  desecrations  of  the  royal  bed 
To  do  with  thee  — thy  love?     Dost  thou  fear  Philip? 
How  are  a  husband's  violated  duties 
Allied  with  thee  and  thy  audacious  hopes  ? 
Has  he  sinned  there,  where  thou  hast  placed  thy  love  ? 
Now  then,  in  truth,  I  learn  to  comprehend  thee  — 
How  ill  till  now  I've  understood  thy  love ! 

CARLOS. 
What  dost  thou  think,  Roderigo  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  I  feel 

From  what  it  is  that  I  must  wean  myself. 
Once  it  was  otherwise  !     Yes,  once  thy  soul 
Was  bounteous,  rich,  and  warm,  and  there  was  room 
For  a  whole  world  in  thy  expanded  heart. 
Those  feelings  are  extinct  —  all  swallowed  up 
In  one  poor,  petty,  selfish  passion.     Now 
Thy  heart  is  withered,  dead  !     No  tears  hast  them 
For  the  unhappy  fate  of  wretched  Flanders  — 
No,  not  another  tear.     Oh,  Carlos  !  see 
How  poor,  how  beggarly,  thou  hast  become, 
Since  all  thy  love  has  centered  in  thyself ! 

CARLOS  (flings  himself  into  a  chair.     After  a  pause,  with 

scarcely  suppressed  tears). 
Too  well  I  know  thou  lovest  me  no  more ! 

MARQUIS. 

Not  so,  my  Carlos.     Well  I  understand 
This  fiery  passion  :  'tis  the  misdirection 
Of  feelings  pure  and  noble  in  themselves. 
The  queen  belonged  to  thee  :  the  king,  thy  father, 
Despoiled  thee  of  her  —  yet  till  now  thou  hast 
Been  modestly  distrustful  of  thy  claims. 


DON    CARLOS.  209 

Philip,  perhaps,  was  worthy  of  her !     Thou 
Scarce  dared  to  breathe  his  sentence  in  a  whisper  — 
This  letter  has  resolved  thy  doubts,  and  proved 
Thou  art  the  worthier  man.     With  haughty  joy 
Thou  saw'st  before  thee  rise  the  doom  that  waits 
On  tyranny  convicted  of  a  theft, 
But  thou  wert  proud  to  be  the  injured  one  : 
Wrongs  undeserved  great  souls  can  calmly  suffer, 
Yet  here  thy  fancy  played  thee  false  :  thy  pride 
Was  touched  with  satisfaction,  and  thy  heart 
Allowed  itself  to  hope :  I  plainly  saw 
This  time,  at  least,  thou  didst  not  know  thyself. 

CARLOS  (with  emotion). 

Thou'rt  wrong,  Roderigo ;  for  my  thoughts  were  far 
Less  noble  than  thy  goodness  would  persuade  me. 

MARQUIS. 

And  am  I  then  e'en  here  so  little  known  ? 
See,  Carlos,  when  thou  errest,  'tis  my  way, 
Amid  a  hundred  virtues,  still  to  find 
That  one  to  which  I  may  impute  thy  fall. 
Now,  then,  we  understand  each  other  better, 
And  thou  shalt  have  an  audience  of  the  queen. 

CARLOS  (falling  on  his  neck). 
Oh,  how  I  blush  beside  thee  ! 

MARQUIS. 

Take  my  word, 

And  leave  the  rest  to  me.     A  wild,  bold  thought, 
A  happy  thought  is  dawning  in  my  mind  ; 
And  thou  shalt  hear  it  from  a  fairer  mouth, 
I  hasten  to  the  queen.     Perhaps  to-morrow 
Thy  wish  may  be  achieved.     Till  then,  my  Carlos, 
Forget  not  this  —  "  That  a  design  conceived 
Of  lofty  reason,  which  involves  the  fate, 
The  sufferings  of  mankind,  though  it  be  baffled 
Ten  thousand  times,  should  never  be  abandoned." 
Dost  hear  ?     Remember  Flanders. 

CARLOS. 

Yes!  all,  all 
That  thou  and  virtue  bid  me  not  forget. 


210  DON    CARLOS. 

MARQUIS  (going  to  a  window). 
The  time  is  up  —  I  hear  thy  suite  approaching. 

[  They  embrace* 
Crown  prince  again,  and  vassal. 

CARLOS. 

Dost  thou  go 
Straight  to  Madrid  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Yes,  straight. 

CARLOS. 

Hold  !  one  word  more. 

How  nearly  it  escaped  me !     Yet  'twas  news 
Of  deep  importance.     "  Every  letter  now 
Sent  to  Brabant  is  opened  by  the  king !  " 
So  be  upon  thy  guard.     The  royal  post 
Has  secret  orders. 

MARQUIS. 

How  have  you  learned  this  ? 

CARLOS. 
Don  Raymond  Taxis  is  my  trusty  friend. 

MARQUIS  (after  a  pause). 
Well !  then  they  may  be  sent  through  Germany. 

[Exeunt  on  different  sides. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. 

TJie  king's  bedchamber.  On  the  toilet  two  burning  lights.  In  the 
background  several  pages  asleep  resting  on  their  knees.  The 
KING,  in  half  undress,  stands  before  the  table,  with  one  arm 
bent  over  the  chair,  in  a  reflecting  posture.  Before  him  is  a 
medallion  and  papers. 

KING. 

Of  a  warm  fancy  she  has  ever  been ! 
Who  can  deny  it  ?     I  could  never  love  her, 
Yet  has  she  never  seemed  to  miss  my  love. 
And  so  'tis  plain  —  she's  false  ! 

[Makes  a  movement  which  brings  him  to  himself. 
He  looks  round -with  surprise. 


DON   CAKLOS.  211 

Where  have  I  been  ? 

Is  no  one  watching  here,  then,  save  the  king  ? 
The  light's  burnt  out,  and  yet  it  is  not  day. 
I  must  forego  my  slumbers  for  to-night. 
Take  it,  kind  nature,  for  enjoyed  !     No  time 
Have  monarchs  to  retrieve  the  nights  they  lose. 
I'm  now  awake,  and  day  it  shall  be. 

\_IIeputs  out  the  candles,  and  draws  aside  the  win- 
dow-curtain. He  observes  the  sleeping  pages  — 
remains  for  some  time  standing  before  them  — 
then  rings  a  bell. 

All 
Asleep  within  the  antechamber,  too  ? 

SCENE  II. 

The  KING,  COUNT  LERMA. 
LERMA  (surprised  at  seeing  the  KING). 
Does  not  your  majesty  feel  well  ? 

KING. 

The  left 

Pavilion  of  the  palace  was  in  flames : 
Did  you  not  hear  the  alarum  ? 

LERMA. 

No,  my  liege. 

KING. 

No !   What  ?    And  did  I  only  dream  it  then  ? 
'Twas  surely  real !     Does  not  the  queen  sleep  there  ? 

LERMA. 
She  does,  your  majesty. 

KING. 

This  dream  affrights  me ! 
In  future  let  the  guards  be  doubled  there 
As  soon  as  it  grows  dark.     Dost  hear  ?    And  yet 

Let  it  be  done  in  secret.     I  would  not 

Why  do  you  gaze  on  me  ? 

LERMA. 

Your  bloodshot  eyes, 
I  mark,  that  beg  repose.    Dare  I  remind 


212  DON   CARLOS. 

My  liege  of  an  inestimable  life, 
And  of  your  subjects,  who  with  pale  dismay 
Would  in  such  features  read  of  restless  nights: 
But  two  brief  hours  of  morning  sleep  would  — 


KING  (with  troubled  look). 

Sleep! 

Shall  I  find  sleep  within  the  Escurial? 
Let  the  king  sleep,  and  he  may  lose  his  crown, 
The  husband,  his  wife's  heart.     But  no!  not  so; 
This  is  but  slander.     Was  it  not  a  woman 
Whispered  the  crime  to  me  ?     Woman,  thy  name 
Is  calumny?    The  deed  I'll  hold  unproved, 
Until  a  man  confirms  the  fatal  truth  ! 

[  To  the  pages,  who  in  the  meamchile  have  awaked. 
Summon  Duke  Alva !  [Pages  go. 

Count,  come  nearer  to  me. 
[Fixes  a  searching  look  on  the  COUNT. 
Is  all  this  true  ?     Oh  for  omniscience  now, 
Though  but  so  long  as  a  man's  pulse  might  beat. 
Is  it  true?    Upon  your  oath  !     Am  I  deceived? 

LBRMA. 
My  great,  my  best  of  kings ! 

KING  (drawing  back). 

King !  naught  but  king ! 
And  king  again !     No  better  answer  than 
Mere  hollow  echo !     When  I  strike  this  rock 
For  water,  to  assuage  my  burning  thirst, 
It  gives  me  molten  gold. 

LERMA. 

What  true,  my  liege  ? 

KING. 

Oh,  nothing,  nothing !     Leave  me !     Get  thee  gone ! 

[  The  COUNT  going,  the  KING  calls  him  back  again, 
Say,  are  you  married  ?  and  are  you  a  father  ? 

LERMA. 
I  am,  your  majesty. 


DON   CARLOS.  213 

KING. 

What !  married  —  yet 

You  dare  to  watch  a  night  here  with  your  king! 
Your  hair  is  gray,  and  yet  you  do  not  blush 
To  think  your  wife  is  honest.     Get  thee  home ; 
You'll  find  her  locked,  this  moment,  in  your  son's 
Incestuous  embrace.     Believe  your  king. 
Now  go ;  you  stand  amazed  ;  you  stare  at  me 
With  searching  eye,  because  of  my  gray  hairs. 
Unhappy  man,  reflect.     Queens  never  taint 
Their  virtue  thus  :  doubt  it,  and  you  shall  die ! 

LERMA  (icith  warmth). 

Who  dare  do  so?    In  all  my  monarch's  realms 
Who  has  the  daring  hardihood  to  breathe 
Suspicion  on  her  angel  purity  ? 
To  slander  thus  the  best  of  queens 

KING. 

The  best! 

The  best,  from  you,  too !     She  has  ardent  friends, 
I  find,  around.     It  must  have  cost  her  much  — 
More  than  methinks  she  could  afford  to  give. 
You  are  dismissed ;  now  send  the  duke  to  me. 

LERMA. 

I  hear  him  in  the  antechamber.  [  Going. 

KING  (with  a  milder  tone). 

Count, 

What  you  observed  is  very  true.    My  head 
Burns  with  the  fever  of  this  sleepless  night ! 
What  I  have  uttered  in  this  waking  dream, 
Mark  you,  forget!     I  am  your  gracious  king! 

[Presents  his  hand  to  kiss.     Exit  LERMA,  opening 
the  door  at  the  same  time  to  DUKE  ALVA. 

SCENE  III. 

The  KING  and  DUKE  ALVA. 

ALVA  (approaching  the  KING  with  an  air  of  doubt). 
This  unexpected  order,  at  so  strange 


214  DON   CARLOS. 

An  hour !  [Starts  on  looking  closer  at  the  KING. 

And  then  those  looks ! 

KING  (has  seated  himself  \  and  taken  hold  of  the  medallion 
on  the  table.  Looks  at  the  DUKE  for  some  time  in 
silence. 

And  is  it  true 

I  have  no  faithful  servant ! 

ALVA. 
How? 

KING. 

A  blow 

Aimed  at  ray  life  in  its  most  vital  part ! 
Full  well  'twas  known,  yet  no  one  warned  me  of  it. 

ALVA  (with  a  look  of  astonishment). 
A  blow  aimed  at  your  majesty !  and  yet 
Escape  your  Alva's  eye  ? 

KING  (showing  him  letters). 

Know  you  this  writing? 

ALVA. 
It  is  the  prince's  hand. 

KING  (a  pause  —  watches  the  DUKE  closely}. 

Do  you  suspect 

Then  nothing?     Often  have  you  cautioned  me 
'Gainst  his  ambition.     Was  there  nothing  more 
Than  his  ambition  should  have  made  me  tremble? 

ALVA. 

Ambition  is  a  word  of  largest  import, 
And  much  it  may  comprise. 

KING. 

And  had  you  naught 
Of  special  purport  to  disclose  ? 

ALVA  (after  a  pause,  mysteriously}. 

Your  majesty 

Hath  given  the  kingdom's  welfare  to  my  charge: 
On  this  my  inmost,  secret  thoughts  are  bent, 


DON   CARLOS.  215 

And  my  best  vigilance.     Beyond  this  charge 
What  I  may  think,  suspect,  or  know  belongs 
To  me  alone.     These  are  the  sacred  treasures 
Which  not  the  vassal  only,  but  the  slave, 
The  very  slave,  may  from  a  king  withhold. 
Not  all  that  to  my  mind  seems  plain  is  yet 
Mature  enough  to  meet  the  monarch's  ear. 
Would  he  be  answered  —  then  must  I  implore 
He  will  not  question  as  a  king. 

KING  (handing  the  letters). 

Read  these. 

ALVA  (reads  them,  and  turns  to  the  KING  with  a  look 

of  terror). 

Who  was  the  madman  placed  these  fatal  papers 
In  my  king's  hands  ? 

KING. 

You  know,  then,  who  is  meant? 
No  name  you  see  is  mentioned  in  the  paper. 

ALVA  (stepping  back  confused). 

I  was  too  hasty ! 

KING. 
But  you  know ! 

ALVA  (after  some  consideration). 

'Tis  spoken! 

The  king  commands,  —  I  dare  not  now  conceal. 
I'll  not  deny  it  —  I  do  know  the  person. 

KING  (starting  up  in  violent  emotion). 

God  of  revenge !  inspire  me  to  invent 
Some  new,  unheard-of  torture  !     Is  their  crime 
So  clear,  so  plain,  so  public  to  the  world, 
That  without  e'en  the  trouble  of  inquiry 
The  veriest  hint  suffices  to  reveal  it  ? 
This  is  too  much  !  I  did  not  dream  of  this! 
I  am  the  last  of  all,  then,  to  discern  it  — 
The  last  in  all  my  realm  ? 


216  DON    CARLOS. 

ALVA  (throwing  himself  at  the  KING'S  feet). 

Yes,  I  confess 

My  guilt,  most  gracious  monarch.     I'm  ashamed 
A  coward  prudence  should  have  tied  my  tongue 
When  truth,  and  justice-,  and  my  sovereign's  honoi 
Urged  me  iO  speak.      But  since  all  else  are  silent 
And  since  the  magic  spell  of  beauty  binds 
All  other  tongues,  I  dare  to  give  it  voice; 
Though  well  I  know  a  son's  warm  protestations, 
A  wife's  seductive  charms  and  winning  tears 

KING  (suddenly  with  warmth). 
Rise,  Alva!  thou  hast  now  my  royal  promise; 
Rise,  and  speak  fearlessly  ! 

ALVA  (rising). 

Your  majesty, 

Perchance,  may  bear  in  your  remembrance  still 
What  happened  in  the  garden  at  Aranjuez. 
You  found  the  queen  deserted  by  her  ladies, 
With  looks  confused  —  alone,  within  a  bower, 


KING. 

Proceed.     What  further  have  I  yet  to  hear? 

ALVA. 

The  Marchioness  of  Mondecar  was  banished 
Because  she  boldly  sacrificed  herself 
To  save  the  queen  !     It  has  been  since  discovered 
She  did  no  more  than  she  had  been  commanded. 
Prince  Carlos  had  been  there. 

KING  (starting). 

The  prince  !     What  more 

ALVA. 

Upon  the  ground  the  footsteps  of  a  man 
Were  traced,  till  finally  they  disappeared 
Close  to  a  grotto,  leftward  of  the  bower, 
Where  lay  a  handkerchief  the  prince  had  dropped. 
This  wakened  our  suspicions.     But  besides, 
The  gardener  met  the  prince  upon  the  spot,  — 
Just  at  the  time,  as  near  as  we  can  guess, 
Your  majesty  appeared  within  the  walk. 


DON   CARLOS.  217 

KING  (recovering  from  gloomy  thought). 

And  yet  she  wept  when  I  but  seemed  to  doubt ! 
She  made  me  blush  before  the  assembled  court, 
Blush  to  my  very  self !     By  heaven  !  I  stood 
In  presence  of  her  virtue,  like  a  culprit. 

\_A  long  and  deep  silence.      He  sits  down  and  hide^ 

his  face. 

Yes,  Alva,  you  are  right !     All  this  may  lead 
To  something  dreadful  —  leave  me  for  a  moment  — 

ALVA. 
But,  gracious  sire,  all  this  is  not  enough 

KING  (snatching  up  the  papers). 

Nor  this,  nor  this  ?  —  nor  all  the  harmony 

Of  these  most  damning  proofs?      'Tis  clear  as  day  — 

I  knew  it  long  ago  —  their  heinous  guilt 

Began  when  first  I  took  her  from  your  hands, 

Here  in  Madrid.     I  think  I  see  her  now, 

With  look  of  horror,  pale  as  midnight  ghost, 

Fixing  her  eyes  upon  my  hoary  hair  ! 

'Twas  then  the  treacherous  game  began ! 

ALVA. 

The  prince,  • 

In  welcoming  a  mother  —  lost  his  bride! 
Long  had  they  nursed  a  mutual  passion,  long 
Eacli  other's  ardent  feelings  understood, 
Which  her  new  state  forbade  her  to  indulge. 
The  fear  which  still  attends  love's  first  avowal 
Was  long  subdued.     Seduction,  bolder  grown, 
Spoke  in  those  forms  of  easy  confidence 
Which  recollections  of  the  past  allowed. 
Allied  by  harmony  of  souls  and  years, 
And  now  by  similar  restraints  provoked, 
They  readily  obeyed  their  wild  desires. 
Reasons  of  state  opposed  their  early  union  — 
But  can  it,  sire,  be  thought  she  ever  gave 
To  the  state  council  such  authority? 
That  she  subdued  the  passion  of  her  soul 
To  scrutinize  with  more  attentive  eye 


218  DON    CARLOS. 

The  election  of  the  cabinet.     Her  heart 
Was  bent  on  love,  and  won  a  diadem. 

KING  (offended,  and  with  bitterness). 

You  are  a  nice  observer,  duke,  and  I 
Admire  your  eloquence.     I  thank  you  truly. 

[-Rising  coldly  and  haughtily. 
But  you  are  right.     The  queen  has  deeply  erred 
In  keeping  from  me  letters  of  such  import, 
And  in  concealing  the  intrusive  visit 
The  prince  paid  in  the  garden  :  —  from  a  false 
Mistaken  honor  she  has  deeply  erred 
And  I  shall  question  further.  [Ringing  the  bell. 

Who  waits  now 

Within  the  antechamber  ?     You,  Duke  Alva, 
I  need  no  longer.     Go. 

ALVA. 

And  has  my  zeal 
A  second  time  displeased  your  majesty  ? 

KING  (to  a  page  who  enters}. 
Summon  Domingo.     Duke,  I  pardon  you 
For  having  made  me  tremble  for  a  moment, 
With  secret  apprehension,  lest  yourself 
'Might  fall  a  victim  to  a  foul  misdeed.  [Exit  ALVA. 

SCENE  IV. 

The  KING,  DOMINGO. 

KING  walks  up  and  down  the  room  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

DOMINGO  (after  contemplating  the  KING  for  some  time 

with  a  respectful  silence). 
How  joyfully  surprised  I  am  to  find 
Your  majesty  so  tranquil  and  collected. 

KING. 

Surprised ! 

DOMINGO. 

And  heaven  be  thanked  my  fears  were  groundless.' 
Now  may  I  hope  the  best. 


DON    CARLOS.  219 

KING. 

Your  fears  !     What  feared  you  ? 

DOMINGO. 

I  dare  not  hide  it  from  your  majesty 
That  I  had  learned  a  secret 

KING  (gloomily). 

And  have  I 

Expressed  a  wish  to  share  your  secret  with  you  ? 
Who  ventures  to  anticipate  me  thus? 
Too  forward,  by  mine  honor! 

DOMINGO. 

Gracious  monarch ! 

The  place,  the  occasion,  seal  of  secrecy 
'Neath  which  I  learned  it  —  free  me  from  this  charge. 
It  was  intrusted  to  me  at  the  seat 
Of  penitence  —  intrusted  as  a  crime 
That  deeply  weighe.d  upon  the  tender  soul 
Of  the  fair  sinner  who  confessed  her  guilt, 
And  sought  the  pardon  of  offended  heaven. 
Too  late  the  princess  weeps  a  foul  misdeed 
That  may  involve  the  queen  herself  in  ruin. 

KING. 

Indeed  !     Kind  soul  !     You  have  correctly  guessed 
The  occasion  of  your  summons.     You  must  guide  me 
Through  this  dark  labyrinth  wherein  blind  zeal 
Has  tangled  me.     From  you  I  hope  for  truth. 
Be  candid  with  me;  what  must  I  believe, 
And  what  determine?    From  your  sacred  office 
I  look  for  strictest  truth. 

DOMINGO. 

And  if,  my  liege, 

The  mildness  ever  incident  to  this 
My  holy  calling,  did  not  such  restraint 
Impose  upon  me,  still  I  would  entreat 
Your  majesty,  for  your  own  peace  of  mind, 
To  urge  no  further  this  discovery, 
And  cease  forever  to  pursue  a  secret 
Which  never  can  be  happily  explained. 


220  DON   CARLOS. 

All  that  is  yet  discovered  may  be  pardoned. 
Let  the  king  say  the  word  —  and  then  the  queen 
Has  never  sinned.     The  monarch's  will  bestows 
Virtue  and  fortune,  both  with  equal  ease. 
And  the  king's  undisturbed  tranquillity 
Is,  in  itself,  sufficient  to  destroy 
The  rumors  set  on  foot  by  calumny. 

KING. 

What!     Rumors!  and  of  me!  among  my  subjects ! 
DOMINGO. 

All  falsehood,  sire  !     Naught  but  the  vilest  falsehood ! 
I'll  swear  'tis  false !     Yet  what's  believed  by  all, 
Groundless  and  unconfirmed  although  it  be, 
Works  its  effect,  as  sure  as  truth  itself. 

KING. 

Not  in  this  case,  by  heaven ! 

DOMINGO. 

A  virtuous  name 

Is,  after  all,  my  liege,  the  only  prize 
Which  queens  and  peasants'  wives  contest  together. 

KING. 

For  which  I  surely  have  no  need  to  tremble. 

[He  looks  doubtinyly  at  DOMINGO.     After  a  pause 
Priest,  thou  hast  something  fearful  to  impart. 
Delay  it  not.     I  read  it  plainly  stamped 
In  thy  ill-boding  looks.     Then  out  with  it, 
Whate'er  it  be.     Let  me  no  longer  tremble 
Upon  the  rack.     What  do  the  people  say  ? 

DOMINGO. 

The  people,  sire,  are  liable  to  err, 
Nay  err  assuredly.     What  people  think 
Should  not  alarm  the  king.     Yet  that  they  should 
Presume  so  far  as  to  indulge  such  thoughts 

o  o 

KING. 

Why  must  I  beg  this  poisonous  draught  so  long? 


DON   CARLOS.  221 

DOMINGO. 

The  people  often  muse  upon  that  month 
Which  brought  your  majesty  so  near  the  grave, 
From  that  time,  thirty  weeks  had  scarce  elapsed, 
Before  the  queen's  delivery  was  announced. 

[The   KING    rises   and  rings   the  bell.     DUKE   ALV^ 

enters.     DOMINGO  alarmed. 
£  am  amazed,  your  majesty  ! 

KING  (going  towards  ALVA). 

Toledo ! 
You  are  a  man  —  defend  me  from  this  priest ! 

DOMINGO  (he  and  DUKE  ALVA  exchange  embarrassed  looks 

After  a  pause). 

Could  we  have  but  foreseen  that  this  occurrence 
Would  be  avenged  upon  its  mere  relater. 

KING. 

Said  you  a  bastard  ?     I  had  scarce,  you  say, 
Escaped  the  pangs  of  death  when  first  she  felt 
She  should,  in  nature's  time,  become  a  mother. 
Explain  how  this  occurred !     'Twas  then,  if  I 
Remember  right,  that  you,  in  every  church, 
Ordered  devotions  to  St.  Dominick, 
For  the  especial  wonder  he  vouchsafed. 
On  one  side  or  the  other,  then,  you  lie ! 
What  would  you  have  me  credit?    Oh,  I  see 
Full  plainly  through  you  now !     If  this  dark  plot 
Had  then  been  ripe  your  saint  had  lost  his  fame. 

ALVA. 

This  plot  ? 

KING. 

How  can  you  with  a  harmony 
So  unexampled  in  your  very  thoughts 
Concur,  and  not  have  first  conspired  together? 
Would  you  persuade  me  thus?     Think  you  that  I 
Perceived  not  with  what  eagerness  you  pounced 
Upon  your  prey?     With  what  delight  you  fed 
Upon  my  pain,  —  my  agony  of  grief  ? 
Full  well  I  marked  the  ardent,  burning  zeal 


222  DON    CARLOS. 

With  which  the  duke  forestalled  the  mark  of  grace 

I  destined  for  my  son.     And  how  this  priest 

Presumed  to  fortify  his  petty  spleen 

With  my  wrath's  giant  arm  !     I  am,  forsooth, 

A  bow  which  each  of  you  may  bend  at  pleasure 

But  I  have  yet  a  will.     And  if  I  needs 

Must  doubt  —  perhaps  I  may  begin  with  you. 

ALVA. 

Reward  like  this  our  truth  did  ne'er  expect. 

KING. 

Your  truth  !     Truth  warns  of  apprehended  danger. 
'Tis  malice  that  speaks  only  of  the  past. 
What  can  I  gain  by  your  officiousness  ? 
Should  your  suspicion  ripen  to  full  truth, 
What  follows  but  the  pangs  of  separation, 
The  melancholy  triumphs  of  revenge  ? 
But  no:  you  only  fear — you  feed  me  with 
Conjectures  vague.     To  hell's  profound  abyss 
You  lead  me  on,  then  flee  yourself  away. 

DOMINGO. 

What  other  proofs  than  these  are  possible, 
When  our  own  eyes  can  scarcely  trust  themselves  ? 

KING  (after  a  long  pause,  turning  earnestly  and  solemnly 
towards  DOMINGO). 

The  grandees  of  the  realm  shall  be  convened, 

And  I  will  sit  in  judgment.     Then  step  forth 

In  front  of  all,  if  you  have  courage  for  it, 

And  charge  her  as  a  strumpet.     She  shall  die  — 

Die  without  mercy  —  and  the  prince,  too,  with  her  ! 

But  mark  me  well :  if  she  but  clear  herself 

That  doom  shall  fall  on  you.     Now,  dare  you  show 

Honor  to  truth  by  such  a  sacrifice  ? 

Determine.     No,  you  dare  not.     You  are  silent. 

Such  is  the  zeal  of  liars ! 

ALVA  (who  has  stood  at  a  distance,  answers  coldly  and 
calmly). 

I  will  do  it. 


DON    CARLOS.  223 

KING  (turns  round  with  astonishment  and  looks  at  the 
DUKE  for  a  long  time  without  moving). 

That's  boldly  said !     But  thou  hast  risked  thy  life 

In  stubborn  conflicts  for  far  less  a  prize. 

Has  risked  it  with  a  gamester's  recklessness  — 

For  honor's  empty  bubble.     What  is  life 

To  thee?     I'll  not  expose  the  royal  blood 

To  such  a  madman's  power,  whose  highest  hope 

Must  be  to  yield  his  wretched  being  up 

With  some  renown.     I  spurn  your  offer.     Go ; 

And  wait  my  orders  in  the  audience  chamber. 

[JSsceunt. 

SCENE  V. 
The  KING  alone. 

Now  give  me,  gracious  Providence  !   a  man. 

Thou'st  given  me  much  already.    Now  vouchsafe  me 

A  man  !  for  thou  alone  canst  grant  the  boon. 

Thine  eye  doth  penetrate  all  hidden  things 

Oh  !  give  me  but  a  friend  :  for  I  am  not 

Omniscient  like  to  thee.     The  ministers 

Whom  thou  hast  chosen  for  me  thou  dost  know  — 

And  their  deserts  :  and  as  their  merits  claim, 

I  value  them.     Their  subjugated  vices, 

Coerced  by  rein  severe,  serve  all  my  ends, 

As  thy  storms  purify  this  nether  world. 

I  thirst  for  truth.     To  reach  its  tranquil  spring, 

Through  the  dark  heaps  of  thick  surrounding  error, 

Is  not  the  lot  of  kings.     Give  me  the  man, 

So  rarely  found,  of  pure  and -open  heart, 

Of  judgment  clear,  and  eye  unprejudiced, 

To  aid  me  in  the  search.     I  cast  the  lots. 

And  may  I  find  that  man,  among  the  thousands 

Who  flutter  in  the  sunshine  of  a  court. 

[lie  opens  an  escritoire  and  takes  out  a  portfolio. 

After  turning  over  the  leaves  a  long  time. 
Nothing  but  names,  mere  names  are  here: —  no  note 
E'en  of  the  services  to  which  they  owe 
Their  place  upon  the  roll !     Oh,  what  can  be 
Of  shorter  memory  than  gratitude  ! 


224  DON    CARLOS. 

Here,  in  this  other  list,  I  read  each  fault 
Most  accurately  marked.     That  is  not  well ! 
Can  vengeance  stand  in  need  of  such  a  help  ? 

\_He  reads  further. 

Count  Egmont !     What  doth  he  here  ?     Long  ago 
The  victory  of  St.  Quentin  is  forgotten. 
I  place  him  with  the  dead. 

\_He  effaces  this  name  and  writes  it  on  the  othet 
roll  after  he  has  read  further. 

The  Marquis  Posa! 

The  Marquis  Posa  !     I  can  scarce  recall 
This  person  to  mind.     And  doubly  marked ! 
A  proof  I  destined  him  for  some  great  purpose. 
How  is  it  possible  ?     This  man,  till  now, 
Has  ever  shunned  my  presence  —  still  has  fled 
His  royal  debtor's  eye  ?     The  only  man, 
By  heaven,  within  the  compass  of  my  realm, 
Who  does  not  court  my  favor.     Did  he  burn 
With  avarice,  or  ambition,  long  ago 
He  had  appeared  before  my  throne.     I'll  try 
This  wondrous  man.     He  who  can  thus  dispense 
Witli  royalty  will  doubtless  speak  the  truth. 

SCENE  VI. 
The  Audience  Chamber. 

DON  CARLOS  in  conversation  with  the  PRINCE  OF  PARMA 
DUKES  ALVA,  FERIA,  and  MEDINA  SIDONIA,  COUNT 
LERMA,  and  other  GRANDEES,  tcith  papers  in  their 
hands,  awaiting  the  KING. 

MEDINA  SIDONIA  (seems  to  be  shunned  by  all  the  GRANDEES, 
turns  towards  DUKE  ALVA,  who,  alone  and  absorbed  in 
himself,  walks  up  and  down) . 

Duke,  you  have  had  an  audience  of  the  king? 
How  did  you  find  him  minded  ? 

ALVA. 

Somewhat  ill 
For  you,  and  for  the  news  you  bring. 


DON   CARLOS.  225 

MEDINA  SIDONIA. 

My  heart 

Was  lighter  'mid  the  roar  of  English  caunon 
Than  here  on  Spanish  ground. 

[CARLOS,  who  had  regarded  him  with  silent  sym- 
pathy^ now  approaches  him  and  presses  his  hand. 

My  warmest  thanks, 

.     Prince,  for  this  generous  tear.     You  may  perceive 
How  all  avoid  me.     Now  my  fate  is  sealed. 

CARLOS. 

Still  hope  the  best  both  from  my  father's  favor, 
And  your  own  innocence. 

MEDINA  SIDONIA. 

Prince,  I  have  lost 

A  fleet  more  mighty  than  e'er  ploughed  the  waves. 
And  what  is  such  a  head  as  mine  to  set 
'Gainst  seventy  sunken  galleons  ?    And  therewith 
Five  hopeful  sons !     Alas !  that  breaks  my  heart. 

SCENE  VII. 

The  KING  enters  from  his  chamber,  attired.  The  former  all  un- 
cover and  make  room  on  both  sides,  while  they  form  a  semicircle 
round  him.  Silence. 

KING  (rapidly  surveying  the  whole  circle). 
Be  covered,  all. 

[DoN  CARLOS  and  the  PRINCE  OF  PARMA  approach 
first  and  kiss  the  KING'S  hand:  he  turns  with 
friendly  mien  to  the  latter,  taking  no  notice  of 
his  son. 

Your  mother,  nephew,  fain 
Would  be  informed  what  favor  you  have  won 
Here  in  Madrid. 

PARMA. 

That  question  let  her  ask 
When  I  have  fought  my  maiden  battle,  sire. 

KING. 

Be  satisfied ;  your  turn  will  come  at  last, 
When  these  old  props  decay. 

[  To  the  DUKE  OF  FERIA. 
What  brings  you  here? 


226  DON    CARLOS. 

FERIA  (kneeling  to  the  KING). 

The  master,  sire,  of  Calatrava's  order 
This  morning  died.     I  here  return  his  cross. 
KING  (takes  the  order  and  looks  round  the  whole  circle). 
And  who  is  worthiest  after  him  to  wear  it  ? 

[He  beckons  to  DUKE  ALVA,  icho  approaches  and 
bends  on  one  knee.  The  KING  hangs  the  order 
on  his  neck. 

You  are  my  ablest  general !     Ne'er  aspire 
To  more,  and,  duke,  my  favors  shall  not  fail  you. 

\_IIe  perceives  the  DUKE  of  MEDINA  SIDONIA. 
My  admiral ! 

MEDINA  SIDONIA. 

And  here  you  see,  great  king, 
All  that  remains  of  the  Armada's  might, 
And  of  the  flower  of  Spain. 

KING  (after  a  pause). 

God  rules  above  us  ! 

I  sent  you  to  contend  with  men,  and  not 
With  rocks  and  storms.     You're  welcome  to  Madrid. 
[Extending  his  hand  to  him  to  kist 
I  thank  you  for  preserving  in  yourself 
A  faithful  servant  to  me.     For  as  such 
I  value  him,  my  lords ;  and  'tis  my  will 
That  you  should  honor  him. 

[He  motions  him  to  rise  and  cover  himself,  then 
turns  to  the  others. 

What  more  remains  ? 

[To  DON  CARLOS  and  the  PRINCE  OF  PARMA. 
Princes,  I  thank  you. 

[They  retire;  the  other  GRANDEES  approach,  and 
kneeling,  hand  their  papers  to  the  KING.  He 
looks  over  them  rapidly,  and  hands  them  to 
DUKE  ALVA. 

Duke,  let  these  be  laid 
Before  me  in  the  council.     Who  waits  further  ? 

[No  one  answers, 

How  comes  it  that  amidst  my  train  of  nobles 
The  Marquis  Posa  ne'er  appears  ?    I  know 


DON   CARLOS.  227 

This  Marquis  Posa  served  me  with  distinction. 
Does  he  still  live  ?     Why  is  he  not  among  you  ? 

LERMA. 

The  chevalier  is  just  returned  from  travel, 
Completed  through  all  Europe.     He  is  now 
Here  in  Madrid,  and  waits  a  public  day 
To  cast  himself  before  his  sovereign's  feet. 

ALVA. 

The  Marquis  Posa  ?     Right,  he  is  the  same 
Bold  Knight  of  Malta,  sire,  of  whom  renown 
Proclaims  this  gallant  deed.     Upon  a  summons 
Of  the  Grand  Master,  all  the  valiant  knights 
Assembled  in  their  island,  at  that  time 
Besieged  by  Soliman.     This  noble  youth, 
Scarce  numbering  eighteen  summers,  straightway  fled 
From  Alcala,  where  he  pursued  his  studies, 
And  suddenly  arrived  at  La  Valette. 
"  This  Cross,"  he  said,  "  was  bought  for  me  ;  and  no\* 
To  prove  I'm  worthy  of  it."     He  was  one 
Of  forty  knights  who  held  St.  Elmo's  Castle, 
At  midday,  'gainst  Piali,  Ulucciali, 
And  Mustapha,  and  Hassem ;  the  assault 
Being  thrice  repeated.     When  the  castle  fell, 
And  all  the  valiant  knights  were  killed  around  him. 
He  plunged  into  the  ocean,  and  alone 
Reached  La  Valette  in  safety.     Two  months  after 
The  foe  deserts  the  island,  and  the  knight 
Returned  to  end  his  interrupted  studies. 

FERIA. 

It  was  the  Marquis  Posa,  too,  who  crushed 
The  dread  conspiracy  in  Catalonia; 
And  by  his  marked  activity  preserved 
That  powerful  province  to  the  Spanish  crown. 

KING. 

I  am  amazed !     What  sort  of  man  is  this 
Who  can  deserve  so  highly,  yet  awake 
No  pang  of  envy  in  the  breasts  of  three 
Who  speak  his  praise  ?     The  character  he  owns 


228  DON   CARLOS. 

Must  be  of  noble  stamp  indeed,  or  else 

A  very  blank.     I'm  curious  to  behold 

This  wondrous  man.  [  To  DUKE  ALVA. 

Conduct  him  to  the  council 
When  mass  is  over. 

[Exit  DUKE.     The  KING  calls  FERIA. 

And  do  you  preside 

Here  in  my  place.  [Exit, 

FERIA. 

The  king  is  kind  to-day. 

MEDINA    SIDONIA. 

Call  him  a  god  !     So  he  has  proved  to  me ! 
FEEIA. 

You  well  deserve  your  fortune,  admiral ! 
You  have  my  warmest  wishes; 

ONE    OF    THE    GRANDEES. 

Sir,  and  mine. 

A   SECOND. 

And  also  mine ! 

A    THIRD. 

My  heart  exults  with  joy  — 
So  excellent  a  general ! 

THE    FIRST. 

The  king 
Showed  you  no  kindness,  'twas  your  strict  desert. 

LERMA  (to  MEDINA  SIDONIA,  taking  leave}. 
Oh,  how  two  little  words  have  made  your  fortune ! 

[Exeunt  all. 

SCENE  VIII. 

The  KING'S  Cabinet. 

MARQUIS  POSA  and  DUKE  ALVA. 

MARQUIS  (as  he  enters). 

Does  he  want  me?    What,  me  ?    Impossible  ! 
You  must  mistake  the  name.     What  can  he  want 
With  me? 


DON    CARLOS.  229 

ALVA. 

To  know  you. 

MABQUIS. 

Curiosity ! 

Xo  more  ;  and  I  regret  the  precious  minutes 
That  I  must  lose :  time  passes  swiftly  by. 

ALVA. 

I  now  commend  you  to  your  lucky  stars. 
The  king  is  in  your  hands.     Employ  this  moment 
To  your  own  best  advantage;  for,  remember, 
If  it  is  lost,  you  are  alone  to  blame. 

SCENE  IX. 
The  MARQUIS  alone. 

MARQUIS. 

Duke,  'tis  well  spoken  !     Turn  to  good  account 
The  moment  which  presents  itself  but  once  ! 
Truly  this  courtier  reads  a  useful  lesson  : 
If  not  in  his  sense  good,  at  least  in  mine. 

[  Walks  a  few  steps  backwards  and  forwards. 
How  came  I  here  ?     Is  it  caprice  or  chance 
That  shows  me  now  my  image  in  this  mirror  ? 
Why,  out  of  millions,  should  it  picture  me  — 
The  most  unlikely  —  and  present  my  form 
To  the  king's  memory  ?     Was  this  but  chance  ? 
Perhaps  'twas  something  more  ! —  what  else  is  chance 
But  the  rude  stone  which  from  the  sculptor's  hand 
Receives  its  life  ?    Chance  comes  from  Providence, 
And  man  must  mould  it  to  his  own  designs. 
What  the  king  wants  with  me  but  little  matters; 
I  know  the  business  I  shall  have  witli  him. 
Were  but  one  spark  of  truth  with  boldness  flung 
Into  the  despot's  soul,  how  fruitful  'twere 
In  the  kind  hand  of  Providence;  and  so 
What  first  appeared  capricious  act  of  chance, 
May  be  designed  for  some  momentous  end. 
Whate'er  it  be,  I'll  act  on  this  belief. 

\_IIe  takes  a  few  turns  in  the  room,  and  stands  at  last 
in  tranquil  contemplation  before  a  painting.      The 


230  DON    CARLOS. 

KING  appears  in  the  neighboring  room,  where  he 
gives  some  orders.  He  then  enters  and  stands  mo- 
tionless at  the  door,  and  contemplates  the  MARQUIS 
for  some  time  without  being  observed. 

SCENE  X. 
The  KING,  and  MARQUIS  POSA.  • 

The  MARQUIS,  as  soon  as  he  observes  the  KING,  comes 
forward  and  sinks  on  one  knee ;  then  rises  and  re- 
mains standing  before  him  without  any  sign  of  con- 
fusion. 

KING  (looks  at  him  with  surprise). 
We've  met  before  then  ? 

MARQUIS. 

No. 

KING. 

You  did  my  crown 

Some  service?      Why  then  do  you  shun  rny  thanks? 
My  memory  is  thronged  with  suitor's  claims. 
One  only  is  omniscient.     'Twas  your  duty 
To  seek  your  monarch's  eye  !     Why  did  you  not  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Two  days  have  scarce  elapsed  since  my  return 
From  foreign  travel,  sire. 

KING. 

I  would  not  stand 
Indebted  to  a  subject  ;  ask  some  favor 

MARQUIS. 
I  enjoy  the  laws. 

KING. 
So  does  the  murderer! 

MARQUIS. 

Then  how  much  more  the  honest  citizen  I 
My  lot  contents  me,  sire. 


DON  CARLOS.  231 

KING  (aside). 

By  heavens !  a  proud 

And  dauntless  mind  !     That  was  to  be  expected. 
Proud  I  would  have  my  Spaniards.     Better  far 
The  cup  should  overflow  than  not  be  full. 
They  say  you've  left  my  service  ? 

MARQUIS. 

To  make  way 
For  some  one  worthier,  I  withdrew. 

KING. 

'Tis  pity. 

When  spirits  such  as  yours  make  holiday, 
The  state  must  suffer.     But  perchance  you  feared 
To  miss  the  post  best  suited  to  your  merits. 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  no !     I  doubt  not  the  experienced  judge, 
In  human  nature  skilled  —  his  proper  study,  — 
Will  have  discovered  at  a  glance  wherein 
I  may  be  useful  to  him,  wherein  not. 
With  deepest  gratitude,  I  feel  the  favor 
Wherewith,  by  so  exalted  an  opinion, 
Your  majesty  is  loading  me  ;  and  yet [He  pauses. 

KING. 

You  hesitate  ? 

MARQUIS. 

I  am,  I  must  confess, 

Sire,  at  this  moment,  unprepared  to  clothe 
My  thoughts,  as  the  world's  citizen,  in  phrase 
Beseeming  to  your  subject.     When  I  left 
The  court  forever,  sire,  I  deemed  myself 
Released  from  the  necessity  to  give 
My  reasons  for  this  step. 

KING. 

Are  they  so  weak  ? 
What  do  you  fear  to  risk  by  their  disclosure  ? 

MARQUIS. 

My  life  at  farthest,  sire,  —  were  time  allowed 
For  me  to  weary  you  —  but  this  denied  — 


232  DON   CARLOS. 

Then  truth  itself  must  suffer.     I  must  choose 
'Twixt  your  displeasure  and  contempt.     And  if 
I  must  decide,  I  rather  would  appear 
Worthy  of  punishment  than  pity. 

KING  (with  a  look  of  expectation). 

Well? 

MARQUIS. 

I  cannot  be  the  servant  of  a  prince. 

[  The  KING  looks  at  him  with  astonishment 
I  will  not  cheat  the  buyer.     Should  you  deem 
Me  worthy  of  your  service,  you  prescribe 
A  course  of  duty  for  me  ;  you  command 
My  arm  in  battle  and  my  head  in  council. 
Then,  not  my  actions,  but  the  applause  they  meet 
At  court  becomes  their  object.     But  for  me 
Virtue  possesses  an  intrinsic  worth. 
I  would,  myself,  create  that  happiness 
A  monarch,  with  my  hand,  would  seek  to  plant, 
And  duty's  task  would  prove  an  inward  joy, 
And  be  my  willing  choice.     Say,  like  you  this  ? 
And  in  your  own  creation  could  you  bear 
A  new  creator  ?     For  I  ne'er  could  stoop 
To  be  the  chisel  where  I  fain  would  be 
The  sculptor's  self.     I  dearly  love  mankind, 
My  gracious  liege,  but  in  a  monarchy 
I  dare  not  love  another  than  myself. 

KING. 

This  ardor  is  most  laudable.     You  wish 

To  do  good  deeds  to  others ;  how  you  do  them 

Is  but  of  small  account  to  patriots, 

Or  to  the  wise.     Choose  then  within  these  reafms     - 

The  office  where  you  best  may  satisfy 

This  noble  impulse. 

MARQUIS. 

'Tis  not  to  be  found. 

KING. 
How! 


DON    CARLOS.  233 

MARQUIS. 

What  your  majesty  would  spread  abroad, 
Through  these  my  hands  —  is  it  the  good  of  men  ? 
Is  it  the  happiness  that  my  pure  love 
Would  to  mankind  impart?     Before  such  bliss 
Monarclis  would  tremble.     No!    Court  policy 
Has  raised  up  new  enjoyments  for  mankind. 
Which  she  is  always  rich  enough  to  grant; 
And  wakened,  in  the  hearts  of  men,  new  wishes 
Which  such  enjoyments  only  can  content. 
In  her  own  mint  she  coins  the  truth  —  such  truth ! 
As  she  herself  can  tolerate :  all  forms 
Unlike  her  own  are  broken.     But  is  that 
Which  can  content  the  court  enough  for  me? 
Must  my  affection  for  my  brother  pledge 
Itself  to  work  my  brother  injury  ? 
To  call  him  happy  when  he  dare  not  think? 
Sire,  choose  not  me  to  spread  the  happiness 
Which  you  have  stamped  for  us.     I  must  decline 
To  circulate  such  coin.     I  cannot  be 
The  servant  of  a  prince. 

KING  (suddenly). 

You  are,  perhaps, 
A  Protestant  ? 

MARQUIS  (after  some  reflection). 

Our  creeds,  my  liege,  are  one. 

\_Apau*e. 

I  am  misunderstood.     I  feared  as  much. 
You  see  the  veil  torn  by  ray  hand  aside 
From  all  the  mysteries  of  majesty. 
Who  can  assure  you  I  shall  still  regard 
As  sacred  that  which  ceases  to  alarm  me  ? 
I  may  seem  dangerous,  because  I  think 
Above  myself.     I  am  not  so,  my  liege ; 
My  wishes  lie  corroding  here.     The  rage 

[Laying  his  hand  on  his  breast. 
For  innovation,  which  but  serves  to  increase 
The  heavy  weight  of  chains  it  cannot  break, 
Shall  never  fire  my  blood  !     The  world  is  yet 


234  DON   CARLOS. 

Unripe  for  my  ideal ;  and  I  live 

A  citizen  of  ages  yet  to  come. 

But  does  a  fancied  picture  break  your  rest? 

A  breach  of  yours  destroys  it. 

KING. 

Say,  am  I 
The  first  to  whom  your  views  are  known? 

MARQUIS. 

You  are. 
KING  (rises,  walks  a  few  paces  and  then  stops  opposite  the 

MARQUIS  —  aside). 

This  tone,  at  least,  is  new  ;  but  flattery 
Exhausts  itself.     And  men  of  talent  still 
Disdain  to  imitate.     So  let  us  test 
Its  opposite  for  once.     Why  should  I  not  ? 
There  is  a  charm  in  novelty.     Should  we 
Be  so  agreed,  I  will  bethink  me  now 
Of  some  new  state  employment,  in  whose  duties 
Your  powerful  mind 

MARQUIS. 

Sire,  I  perceive  how  small, 
How  mean,  your  notions  are  of  manly  worth. 
Suspecting,  in  an  honest  man's  discourse, 
Naught  but  a  flatterer's  artifice  —  methinks 
I  can  explain  the  cause  of  this  your  error. 
Mankind  compel  you  to  it.     With  free  choice 
They  have  disclaimed  their  true  nobility, 
Lowered  themselves  to  their  degraded  state. 
Before  man's  inward  worth,  as  from  a  phantom, 
They  fly  in  terror  —  and  contented  with 
Their  poverty,  they  ornament  their  chains 
With  slavish  prudence;  ami  they  call  it  virtue 
To  bear  them  with  a  show  of  resignation. 
Thus  did  you  find  the  world,  mid  thus  it  was 
By  your  great  father  handed  o'er  to  you. 
In  this  debased  conection  —  how  could  you 
Respect  mankind  ? 

KING. 
Your  words  contain  some  truth. 


DOX   CARLOS.  235 

MARQUIS. 

Alas  !  that  when  from  the  Creator's  hand 
You  took  mankind,  and  moulded  him  to  suit 
Your  own  ideas,  making  yourself  the  god 
Of  this  new  creature,  you  should  overlook 
That  you  yourself  remained  a  human  being  — 
A  very  man,  as  from  God's  hands  you  came. 
Still  did  you  feel  a  mortal's  wants  and  pains. 
You  needed  sympathy  ;  but  to  a  God 
One  can  but  sacrifice,  and  pray,  and  tremble  — 
Wretched  exchange  !     Perversion  most  unblest 
Of  sacred  nature!     Once   degrade  mankind, 
And  make  him  but  a  thing  to  play  upon, 
Who  then  can  share  the  harmony  with  you  ? 

KING  (aside). 
By  heaven,  he  moves  me ! 

MARQUIS. 

But  this  sacrifice 

To  you  is  valueless.     You  thus  become 
A  thing  apart,  a  species  ot   your  own. 
This  is  the  price  you  pay  for  being  a  god  ; 
Twere  dreadful  were  it  not  so,  and  if  you 
Gained  nothing  by  the  misery  of  millions! 
And  if  the  very  freedom  you  destroyed 
Were  the  sole  blessing  that  could  make  you  happy. 
Dismiss  me,  sire,  I  pray  you  ;   for  my  theme 
Bears  me  too  far ;  my  heart  is  full ;  too  strong 
The  charm,  to  stand  before  the  only  man 
To  whom  I  may  reveal  it. 

[The  COU.VT  LERMA     enters,  and  whispers  a  few 
words  to  the  KING,  who  signs  him  to  inthdraw, 
and  continues  sitting  in  his  former  posture. 
KING  (to  the  MARQUIS,  after  LERMA  is  gone). 

Nay,  continue. 
MARQUIS  (after  a  pause). 
I  feel,  sire  —  all  the  worth  — 

KING. 

Proceed ;  you  had 

Yet  more  to  say  to  me. 


236  DON   CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

Your  majesty, 

I  lately  passed  through  Flanders  and  Brabant, 
So  many  rich  and  blooming  provinces, 
Filled  with  a  valiant,  great,  and  honest  people. 
To  be  the  father  of  a  race  like  this 
I  thought  must  be  divine  indeed ;  and  then 
I  stumbled  on  a  heap  of  burnt  men's  bones. 

[He  stops,  he  fixes  a  penetrating  look  on  the  KING, 
who  endeavors  to  return  his  glance  /  but  he  looks 
on  the  ground,  embarrassed  and  confused. 
True,  you  are  forced  to  act  so ;  but  that  you 
Could  dare  fulfil  your  task  —  this  fills  my  soul 
With  shuddering  horror!     Oh,  'tis  pity  that 
The  victim,  weltering  in  his  blood,  must  cease 
To  chant  the  praises  of  his  sacrificer ! 
And  that  mere  men  —  not  beings  loftier  far  — 
Should  write  the  history  of  the  world.     But  soon 
A  milder  age  will  follow  that  of  Philip, 
An  age  of  truer  wisdom;  hand  in  hand, 
The  subjects'  welfare  and  the  sovereign's  greatness 
Will  walk  in  union.     Then  the  careful  state 
Will  spare  her  children,  and  necessity 
No  longer  glory  to  be  thus  inhuman. 

KING. 

When,  think  you,  would  that  blessed  age  arrive, 
If  I  had  shrunk  before  the  curse  of  this  ? 
Behold  my  Spain,  see  here  the  burgher's  good 
Blooms  in  eternal  and  unclouded  peace. 
A  peace  like  this  will  I  bestow  on  Flanders. 

MARQUIS  (hastily). 

The  churchyard's  peace !     And  do  you  hope  to  end 

What  you  have  now  begun  ?     Say,  do  you  hope 

To  check  the  ripening  change  of  Christendom, 

The  universal  spring,  that  shall  renew 

The  earth's  fair  form?     Would  you  alone,  in  Europe, 

Fling  yourself  down  before  the  rapid  wheel 

Of  destiny,  which  rolls  its  ceaseless  course, 

And  seize  its  spokes  with  human  arm.     Vain  thought ! 


DON   CARLOS.  237 

Already  thousands  have  your  kingdom  fled 
In  joyful  poverty  :  the  honest  burgher 
For  his  faith  exiled,  was  your  noblest  subject ! 
See  !  with  a  mother's  arms,  Elizabeth 
Welcomes  the  fugitives,  and  Britain  blooms 
In  rich  luxuriance,  from  our  country's  arts. 
Bereft  of  the  new  Christian's  industry, 
Granada  lies  forsaken,  and  all  Europe 
Exulting,  sees  his  foe  oppressed  with  wounds, 
By  its  own  hands  inflicted  ! 

[  The  KING  is  moved;  the  MARQUIS  observes  it, 
and  advances  a  step  nearer. 

You  would  plant 

For  all  eternity,  and  yet  the  seeds 
You  sow  around  you  are  the  seeds  of  death ! 
This  hopeless  task,  with  nature's  laws  at  strife, 
Will  ne'er  survive  the  spirit  of  its  founder. 
You  labor  for  ingratitude  ;  in  vain, 
With  nature  you  engage  in  desperate  struggle  — 
In  vain  you  waste  your  high  and  royal  life 
In  projects  of  destruction.     Man  is  greater 
Than  you  esteem  him.     He  will  burst  the  chains 
Of  a  long  slumber,  and  reclaim  once  more 
His  just  and  hallowed  rights.     With  Nero's  name, 
And  fell  Busiris',  will  he  couple  yours; 
And  —  ah !  you  once  deserved  a  better  fate. 

KING. 

How  know  you  that  ? 

MARQUIS. 

In  very  truth  you  did  — 
Yes,  I  repeat  it  —  by  the  Almighty  power! 
Restore  us  all  you  have  deprived  us  of, 
And,  generous  as  strong,  let  happiness 
Flow  from  your  horn  of  plenty  —  let  man's  mind 
Ripen  in  your  vast  empire  —  give  us  back 
All  you  have  taken  from  us  —  and  become, 
Amidst  a  thousand  kings,  a  king  indeed  ! 

[He  advances  boldly,  and  fixes  on  him  a  look  of 

earnestness  and  enthusiasm. 
Oh,  that  the  eloquence  of  all  those  myriads, 


238  DON   CARLOS. 

Whose  fate  depends  on  this  momentous  hour, 
Could  hover  on  my  lips,  and  fan  the  spark 
That  lights  thine  eye  into  a  glorious  flame ! 
Renounce  the  mimicry  of  godlike  powers 
Which  level  us  to  nothing.     Be,  in  truth, 
An  image  of  the  Deity  himself! 
Never  did  mortal  man  possess  so  much 
For  purpose  so  divine.     The  kings  of  Europe 
Pay  homage  to  the  name  of  Spain.     Be  you 
The  leader  of  these  kings.     One  pen-stroke  now, 
One  motion  of  your  hand,  can  new  create 
The  earth !  but  grant  us  liberty  of  thought. 

[  Casts  himself  at.  his  feet 

KING  (surprised^  turns  aicay  his  face,  then  again 

looks  toicards  the  MARQUIS). 
Enthusiast  most  strange  !  arise  ;  but  I 

MARQUIS. 

Look  round  on  all  the  glorious  face  of  nature, 
On  freedom  it  is  founded  —  see  how  rich, 
Through  freedom  it  has  grown.     The  great  Creator 
Bestows  upon  the  worm  its  drop  of  dew, 
And  gives  free-will  a  triumph  in  abodes 
Where  lone  corruption  reigns.     See  your  creation, 
How  small,  how  poor  !     The  rustling  of  a  leaf 
Alarms  the  mighty  lord  of  Christendom. 
Each  virtue  makes  you  quake  with  fear.     While  he, 
Not  to  disturb  fair  freedom's  blest  appearance, 
Permits  the  frightful  ravages  of  evil 
To  waste  his  fair  domains.     The  great  Creator 
We  see  not  —  he  conceals  himself  within 
His  own  eternal  laws.     The  sceptic  sees 
Their  operation,  but  beholds  not  Him. 
"  Wherefore  a  God  !  "  he  cries,   "  the  world  itself 
Suffices  for  itself !"     And  Christian  prayer 
Ne'er  praised  him  more  than  doth  this  blasphemy. 

KING. 

And  will  you  undertake  to  raise  up  this 
Exalted  standard  of  weak  human  nature 
In  my  dominions  ? 


DON    CARLOS.  239 

MARQUIS. 

You  can  do  it,  sire . 

Wbo  else  ?    Devote  to  your  own  people's  bliss 
The  kipgly  power,  which  has  too  long  enriched 
The  greatness  of  the  throne  alone.     Restore 
The  prostrate  dignity  of  human  nature, 
And  let  ihe  subject  be,  what  once  he  was, 
The  end  and  object  of  the  monarch's  care, 
Bound  by  no  duty,  save  a  brother's  love. 
And  when  mankind  is  to  itself  restored, 
Roused  to  a  sense  of  its  own  innate  worth, 
When  freedom's  lofty  virtues  proudly  flourish  — 
Then,  sire,  when  you  have  made  your  own  wide  realms 
The  happiest  in  the  world,  it  then  may  be 
Your  duty  to  subdue  the  universe. 

KING  (after  a  long  pau?6). 

I've  heard  you  to  the  end.     Far  differencly 

I  find,  than  in  the  minds  of  other  men, 

The  world  exists  in  yours.     And  you  shall  not 

By  foreign  laws  be  judged.     I  am  the  first 

To  whom  you  have  your  secret  self  disclosed  ; 

I  know  it  —  so  believe  it  —  for  the  sake 

Of  this  forbearance  —  that  you  have  till  now 

Concealed  these  sentiments,  although  embraced 

With  so  much  ardor,  —  for  this  cautious  prudence. 

I  will  forget,  young  man,  that  I  have  learned  them. 

And  how  I  learned  them.     Rise!  I  will  confute 

Your  youthful  dreams  by  my  matured  experience, 

Not  by  my  power  as  king.     Such  is  my  will, 

And  therefore  act  I  thus.     Poison  itself 

May,  in  a  worthy  nature,  be  transformed 

To  some  benignant  use.     But,  sir,  beware 

My  Inquisition!     'Twould  afflict  me  much 

MARQUIS. 
Indeed ! 

KING  (lost  in  surprise). 
Ne'er  met  I  such  a  man  as  that ! 
No,  marquis,  no  !  you  wrong  me !     Not  to  you 
Will  I  become  a  Nero  —  not  to  you  !  — 


240  DON    CARLOS. 

All  happiness  shall  not  be  blasted  round  me, 
And  you  at  least,  beneath  my  very  eyes, 
May  dare  continue  to  remain  a  man. 

MARQUIS  (quickly). 

And,  sire,  my  fellow-subjects?    Not  for  me, 

Nor  my  own  cause,  I  pleaded.    Sire  !  your  subjects 

KING. 

Nay,  if  you  know  so  well  how  future  times 
Will  judge  me,  let  them  learn  at  least  from  you, 
That  when  I  found  a  man,  I  could  respect  him. 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  let  not  the  most  just  of  kings  at  once 

Be  the  most  unjust !     In  your  realm  of  Flanders 

There  are  a  thousand  better  men  than  I. 

But  you  —  sire  !  may  I  dare  to  say  so  much  — 

For  the  first  time,  perhaps,  see  liberty 

In  milder  form  portrayed. 

KING  (with  gentle  severity). 

No  more  of  this, 

Young  man  !     You  would,  I  know,  think  otherwise 
Had  you  but  learned  to  understand  mankind 
As  I.     But  truly  —  I  would  not  this  meeting 
Should  prove  our  last.     How  can  I  hope  to  win  you  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Pray  leave  me  as  I  am.     What  value,  sire, 
Should  I  be  to  you  were  you  to  corrupt  me  ? 

KING. 

This  pride  I  will  not  bear.     From  this  day  forth 

I  hold  you  in  my  service.     No  remonstrance  — 

For  I  will  have  it  so.  [After  a  pau*e. 

But  how  is  this  ? 

What  would  I  now  ?     Was  it  not  truth  I  wished  ? 
But  here  is  something  more.     Marquis,  so  far 
You've  learned  to  know  me  as  a  king;  but  yet 
You  know  me  not  as  man  — 

[  The  MARQUIS  seems  to  meditate. 


DON   CARLOS.  241 

I  understand  you  — 
Were  I  the  most  unfortunate  of  fathers, 
Yet  as  a  husband  may  I  not  be  blest  ? 

MARQUIS. 

If  the  possession  of  a  hopeful  son, 

And  a  most  lovely  spouse,  confer  a  claim 

On  mortal  to  assume  that  title,  sire, 

In  both  respects,  you  are  supremely  blest. 

KING  (icith  a  serious  look). 

That  am  I  not  —  and  never,  till  this  hour, 
Have  I  so  deeply  felt  that  I  am  not  so. 

[  Contemplating  the  MARQUIS  with  a  look  oj 
melancholy. 

MARQUIS. 

The  prince  possesses  a  right  noble  mind. 
I  ne'er  have  known  him  otherwise. 

KING. 

I  have ! 

The  treasure  he  has  robbed  me  of,  no  crown 
Can  e'er  requite.     So  virtuous  a  queen ! 

MARQUIS. 
Who  dare  assert  it,  sire  ? 

KING. 

The  world  !  and  scandal ! 
And  I  myself !     Here  lie  the  damning  proofs 
Of  doubtless  guilt  —  and  others,  too,  exist, 
From  which  I  fear  the  worst.     But  still  'tis  hard 
To  trust  one  proof  alone.     Who  brings  the  charge  ? 
And  oh  !  if  this  were  possible  —  that  she, 
The  queen,  so  foully  could  pollute  her  honor, 
Then  how  much  easier  were  it  to  believe 
An  Eboli  may  be  a  slanderer! 
Does  not  that  priest  detest  my  son  and  her? 
And  can  I  doubt  that  Alva  broods  revenge? 
My  wife  has  higher  worth  than  all  together. 


242  DON  CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

And  there  exists  besides  in  woman's  soul 
A  treasure,  sire,  beyond  all  outward  show, 
Above  the  reach  of  slander  —  female  virtue! 

KING.       • 

Marquis !  those  thoughts  are  mine.     It  costs  too  much 
To  sink  so  low  as  they  accuse  the  queen. 
The  sacred  ties  of  honor  are  not  broken 
With  so  much  ease,  as  some  would  fain  persuade  me. 
Marquis,  you  know  mankind.     Just  such  a  man 
As  you  I  long  have  wished  for  — you  are  kind  — 
Cheerful  —  and  deeply  versed  in  human  nature  — 
Therefore  I've  chosen  you 

MARQUIS  (surprised  and  alarmed). 

Me,  sire ! 
KING. 

You  stand 

Before  your  king  and  ask  no  special  favor  — 
For  yourself  nothing!  —  that  is  new  to  me  — 
You  will  be  just  —  ne'er  weakly  swayed  by  passion. 
Watch  ray  son  close  —  search  the  queen's  inmost  heart. 
You  shall  have  power  to  speak  with  her  in  private. 
Retire.  \_He  rings  a  bell. 

MARQUIS. 

And  if  with  but  one  hope  fulfilled 
I  now  depart,  then  is  this  day  indeed 
The  happiest  of  my  life. 

KING  (holds  out  his  hand  to  him  to  kiss). 

I  hold  it  not 
Amongst  my  days  a  lost  one. 

[  The  MARQUIS  rises  and  goes.    COUNT  LERMA 
enters, 

Count,  in  future, 
The  marquis  is  to  enter,  unannounced. 


DON    CARLOS.  243 

ACT   IV. 

SCENE  I. 
The  Queen's  Apartment. 

QUEEN,  DUCHESS  OLIVABEZ,  PRINCESS  EBOLI,  COUNTESS 
FUENTES. 

QUEEN  (to  the  first  lady  as  she  rises). 
And  so  the  key  has  not  been  found !     My  casket 
Must  be  forced  open  then  —  and  that  at  once. 

[She  observes  PRINCESS  EBOLI,  who  approaches  and 

kisses  her  hand. 

Welcome,  dear  princess  !  I  rejoice  to  see  you 
So  near  recovered.     But  you  still  look  pale. 

FUENTES  (with  malice). 
The  fault  of  that  vile  fever  which  affects 
The  nerves  so  painfully.    Is't  not,  princess  ? 

QUEEN. 

I  wished  to  visit  you,  dear  Eboli, 
But  dared  not. 

OLIVABEZ. 

Oh !  the  Princess  Eboli 
Was  not  in  want  of  company. 

QUEEN. 

Why,  that 
I  readily  believe,  but  what's  the  matter  ? 

You  tremble 

PRINCESS. 

Nothing  —  nothing,  gracious  queen. 
Permit  me  to  retire. 

QUEEN. 

You  hide  it  from  us  — 

And  are  far  worse  than  you  would  have  us  think. 
Standing  must  weary  you.  Assist  her,  countess, 
And  let  her  rest  awhile  upon  that  seat. 

PRINCESS  (going). 
I  shall  be  better  in  the  open  air. 


244  DON   CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

Attend  her,  countess.     What  a  sudden  illness  ! 

[A  PAGE  enters  and  speaks  to  the  DUCHESS,  who  then 
addresses  the  QUEEN. 

OLIVAREZ. 

The  Marquis  Posa  waits,  your  majesty, 
With  ovders  from  the  king. 

QUEEN. 

Admit  him  then. 
[PAGE  admits  the  MARQUIS  and  exit. 

SCENE  II. 
MARQUIS  POSA.     The  former. 

The  MARQUIS  falls  on  one  knee  before  the  QUEEN,  who 
signs  to  him  to  rise. 

QUEEN. 

What  are  my  lord's  commands  ?    And  may  I  dare 
Thus  publicly  to  hear  - 

MARQUIS. 

My  business  is 
In  private  with  your  royal  majesty. 

[  The  ladies  retire  on  a  signal  from  the  QUEEN. 


III. 

The  QUEEN,  MARQUIS  POSA. 
QUEEN  (full  of  astonishment). 

How  !     Marquis,  dare  I  trust  my  eyes  ?    Are  you 
Commissioned  to  me  from  the  king  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Does  this 

Seem  such  a  wonder  to  your  majesty? 
To  me  'tis  otherwise. 


DOX   CARLOS.  245 

QUEEN. 

The  world  must  sure 

Have  wandered  from  its  course  !     That  you  and  he  — 
I  must  confess 

MARQUIS. 

It  does  sound  somewhat  strange  — 
But  be  it  so.     The  present  times  abound 
In  prodigies. 

QUEEN. 
But  none  can  equal  this. 

MARQUIS. 

Suppose  I  had  at  last  allowed  myself 
To  be  converted,  and  had  weary  grown 
Of  playing  the  eccentric  at  the  court 
Of  Phi'lip.     The  eccentric!     What  is  that? 
He  who  would  be  of  service  to  mankind 
Must  first  endeavor  to  resemble  them. 
What  end  is  gained  by  the  vain-glorious  garb 
Of  the  sectarian?     Then  suppose  —  for  who 
From  vanity  is  so  completely  free 
As  for  his  creed  to  seek  no  proselytes  ? 
Suppose,  I  say,  I  had  it  in  my  mind 
To  place  my  own  opinions  on  the  throne ! 

QUEEN. 

No,  marquis!  no!     Not  even  in  jest  could  I 
Suspect  you  of  so  wild  a  scheme  as  this ; 
No  visionary  you !  to  undertake 
What  you  can  ne'er  accomplish. 

MARQUIS. 

But  that  seems 
To  be  the  very  point  at  issue. 

QUEEN. 

What 

I  chiefly  blame  you,  marquis,  for,  and  what 
Could  well  estrange  me  from  you  —  is 

MARQUIS. 

Perhaps 
Duplicity ! 


246  DON    CARLOS. 

QUEEX. 

At  least  —  a  want  of  candor. 
Perhaps  the  king  himself  has  no  desire 
You  should  impart  what  now  you  mean  to  tell  me 

MARQUIS. 
No. 

QUEEN. 

And  can  evil  means  be  justified 
By  honest  ends  ?    And  — pardon  me  the  doubt  — 
Can  your  high  bearing  stoop  to  such  an  office  ? 
I  scarce  can  think  it. 

MARQUIS. 

Nor,  indeed,  could  I, 

Were  my  sole  purpose  to  deceive  the  king. 
'Tis  not  my  wish  —  I  mean  to  serve  him  now 
More  honestly  than  he  himself  commands. 

QUEEN. 

'Tis  spoken  like  yourself.     Enough  of  this — 
What  would  the  king? 

MARQUIS. 

The  king?     I  can,  it  seems, 
Retaliate  quickly  on  my  rigid  judge  : 
And  what  I  have  deferred  so  long  to  tell, 
Your  majesty,  perhaps,  would  willingly 
Longer  defer  to  hear.     But  still  it  must 
Be  heard.     The  king  requests  your  majesty 
Will  grant  no  audience  to  the  ambassador 
Of  France  to-day.     Such  were  my  high  commands  — 
They're  executed. 

QUEEN. 

Marquis,  is  that  all 
You  have  to  tell  me  from  him? 

MARQUIS. 

Nearly  all 
That  justifies  me  thus  to  seek  your  presence. 

QUEEN. 

Well,  marquis,  I'm  contented  not  to  hear 
What  should,  perhaps,  remain  a  secret  from  me. 


DON    CARLOS.  247 

MARQUIS. 

True,  queen !  though  were  you  other  than  yourself, 
I  should  inform  you  straight  of  certain  things  — 
Warn  you  of  certain  men  —  but  this  to  you 
Were  a  vain  office.     Danger  may  arise 
And  disappear  around  you,  unperceived. 
You  will  not  know  it  —  of  too  little  weight 
To  chase  the  slumber  from  your  angel  brow. 
But  'twas  not  this,  in  sooth,  that  brought  me  hither, 

Prince  Carlos 

QUEEN. 

What  of  him  ?    How  have  you  left  him  ? 

MARQUIS. 

E'en  as  the  only  wise  man  of  his  time, 

In  whom  it  is  a  crime  to  worship  truth  — 

And  ready,  for  his  love  to  risk  his  life, 

As  the  wise  sage  for  his.     I  bring  few  words  — 

But  here  he  is  himself. 

[  Giving  the  QUEEN  a  letter. 

QUEEN  (after  she  has  read  it). 

He  says  he  must 

Speak  with  ine 

MARQUIS. 

So  do  I. 

QUEEN. 

And  will  he  thus 

Be  happy  —  when  he  sees  with  his  own  eyes, 
That  I  am  wretched  ? 

MARQUIS. 

No ;  but  more  resolved, 
More  active. 

QUEEN. 

How? 

MARQUIS. 

Duke  Alva  is  appointed 
To  Flanders. 


248  DON    CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

Yes,  appointed  —  so  I  hear. 

MARQUIS. 

The  king  cannot  retract :  —  we  know  the  king. 
This  much  is  clear,  the  prince  must  not  remain 
Here  in  Madrid,  nor  Flanders  be  abandoned. 

QUEEN. 

And  can  you  hinder  it  ? 

MAKQUIS. 

Perhaps  I  can, 

But  then  the  means  are  dangerous  as  the  evil  — 
Rash  as  despair  —  and  yet  I  know  no  other. 

QUEEN. 
Name  them. 

MARQUIS. 

To  you,  and  you  alone,  my  queen, 
Will  I  reveal  them ;  for  from  you  alone, 
Carlos  will  hear  them  named  without  a  shudder. 
The  name  they  bear  is  somewhat  harsh. 

QUEEN. 

Rebellion ! 
MARQUIS. 

He  must  prove  faithless  to  the  king,  and  fly 
With  secrecy  to  Brussels,  where  the  Flemings 
Wait  him  with  open  arms.     The  Netherlands 
Will  rise  at  his  command.     Our  glorious  cause 
From  the  king's  son  will  gather  matchless  strength, 
The  Spanish  throne  shall  tremble  at  his  arms, 
And  what  his  sire  denied  him  in  Madrid, 
That  will  he  willingly  concede  in  Brussels. 

QUEEN. 

You've  spoken  with  the  king  to-day  —  and  yet 
Maintain  all  this. 

MARQUIS. 

Yes,  I  maintain  it  all, 
Because  I  spoke  with  him. 


DON   CARLOS.  249 

QUEEN  (after  a  pause). 

The  daring  plan 

Alarms  and  pleases  me.     You  may  be  right  — 
The  thought  is  bold,  and  that  perhaps  enchants  me. 
Let  it  but  ripen.     Does  Prince  Carlos  know  it? 

MARQUIS. 

It  was  my  wish  that  he  should  hear  it  first 
From  your  own  lips. 

QUEEN. 

The  plan  is  doubtless  good, 
But  then  the  prince's  youth 

MARQUIS. 

No  disadvantage! 

He  there  will  find  the  bravest  generals 
Of  the  Emperor  Charles — an  Egmont  and  an  Orange — 
In  battle  daring,  and  in  council  wise. 

QUEEN  (with  vivacity). 
True  —  the  design  is  grand  and  beautiful! 
The  prince  must  act;  I  feel  it  sensibly. 
The  part  he's  doomed  to  play  here  in  Madrid 
Has  bowed  me  to  the  dust  on  his  account. 
I  promise  him  the  aid  of  France  and  Savoy ; 
I  think  with  you,  lord  marquis  —  he  must  act  — 
But  this  design  needs  money 

MAKQUIS. 

It  is  ready. 
QUEEN. 
I,  too,  know  means. 

MARQUIS. 

May  I  then  give  him  hopes 
Of  seeing  you  ? 

QUEEN. 
I  will  consider  it. 

MARQUIS. 

The  prince,  my  queen,  is  urgent  for  an  answer. 
I  promised  to  procure  it. 

[Presenting  his  writing  tablet  to  the  QUEEN. 

Two  short  lines 
Will  be  enough. 


250  DON    CARLOS. 

QUEEN  (after  she  has  written). 

When  do  we  meet  again? 

MARQUIS. 
Whene'er  you  wish. 

QUEEN. 

Whene'er  I  wish  it,  marquis ! 
How  can  I  understand  this  privilege? 

MARQUIS. 

As  innocently,  queen,  as  e'er  you  may. 
But  we  enjoy  it  —  that  is  sure  enough. 

QUEEN  (interrupting). 

How  will  my  heart  rejoice  should  this  become 
A  refuge  for  the  liberties  of  Europe, 
And  this  through  him  !     Count  on  my  silent  aid ! 

MARQUIS  (with  animation). 

Right  well  I  knew  your  heart  would  understand  me. 
[  The  DUCHESS  OLIVAREZ  enters, 

QUEEN  (coldly  to  the  MARQUIS). 
My  lord  !  the  king's  commands  I  shall  respect 
As  law.     Assure  him  of  the  queen's  submission. 

[She  makes  a  sign  to  him.     Exit  MARQUIS. 

SCENE  IV. 
A  Gallery. 

DON  CARLOS,  COUNT  LERMA. 
CARLOS. 

Here  we  are  undisturbed.    What  would  you  now 
Impart  to  me  ? 

LERMA. 

Your  highness  has  a  friend 
Here  at  the  court. 

CARLOS  (starting). 

A  frieml '     I  knew  it  not ! 
But  what's  your  meaning? 


DON   CARLOS.  251 

LEKMA. 

I  must  sue  for  pardon 

That  I  am  learned  in  more  than  I  should  know. 
But  for  your  highness'  comfort  I've  received  it 
From  one  I  may  depend  upon  —  in  short, 
I  have  it  from  myself. 

CARLOS. 
Whom  speak  you  of  ? 

LEKMA. 

The  Marquis  Posa. 

CARLOS. 

What ! 

LEKMA. 

And  if  your  highness 

Has  trusted  to  him  more  of  what  concerns  you 
Than  every  one  should  know,  as  I  am  led 
To  fear 

CARLOS. 

You  fear ! 

LERMA. 

He  has  been  with  the  king, 

CARLOS. 
Indeed ! 

LERMA. 

Two  hours  in  secret  converse  too. 

CARLOS. 

Indeed ! 

LERMA. 

The  subject  was  no  trifling  matter. 

CARLOS. 
That  I  can  well  believe. 

LERMA. 

And  several  times 
I  heard  your  name. 

CARLOS. 

That's  no  bad  sign,  I  hope. 


252  DON   CARLOS. 

LKRMA. 

And  then,  this  morning,  in  the  king's  apartment, 
The  queen  was  spoken  of  mysteriously. 

CARLOS  (starts  back  astonished). 
Count  Lerma ! 

LERMA. 

When  the  marquis  had  retired 
I  was  commanded  to  admit  his  lordship 
In  future  unannounced. 

CAKLOS. 

Astonishing ! 

LERMA. 

And  without  precedent  do  I  believe, 
Long  as  I  served  the  king 

CARLOS. 

'Tis  strange,  indeed ! 
How  did  you  say  the  queen  was  spoken  of? 

LERMA  (steps  back). 
No,  no,  my  prince  !  that  were  against  my  duty. 

CARLOS. 

'Tis  somewhat  strange  !     One  secret  you  impart. 
The  other  you  withhold. 

LERMA. 

The  first  was  due 
To  you,  the  other  to  the  king. 

CARLOS. 

You're  right. 

LERMA. 

And  still  I've  thought  you,  prince,  a  man  of  honor. 

CARLOS. 
Then  you  have  judged  me  truly. 

LERMA. 

But  all  virtue 
Is  spotless  till  it's  tried. 


DON  CARLOS.  253 

CARLOS. 

Some  stand  the  trial. 

LERMA. 

A  powerful  monarch's  favor  is  a  prize 
Worth  seeking  for ;  and  this  alluring  bait 
Has  ruined  many  a  virtue. 

CARLOS. 

Truly  said ! 

LERMA. 

And  oftentimes  'tis  prudent  to  discover 
What  scarce  can  longer  be  concealed. 

CARLOS. 

Yes,  prudent 

It  may  be,  but  you  say  you've  ever  known 
The  marquis  prove  himself  a  man  of  honor. 

LERMA. 

And  if  he  be  so  still  my  fears  are  harmless, 
And  you  become  a  double  gainer,  prince.  [Going. 

CARLOS  (follows  him  with  emotion,  and  presses  his  hand). 
Trebly  I  gain,  upright  and  worthy  man, 
I  gain  another  friend,  nor  lose  the  one 
Whom  I  before  possessed.  [Exit  LERMA. 

SCENE  V. 
MARQUIS  POSA  comes  through  the  gallery.    CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

Carlos  !    My  Carlos  ! 
CARLOS. 

Who  calls  me?    Ah !  'tis  thou  — I  was  in  haste 
To  gain  the  convent !    You  will  not  delay.       [  Going, 

MARQUIS. 
Hold  !  for  a  moment. 

CARLOS. 
We  may  be  observed. 


254  DON   CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

No  chance  of  that.     'Tis  over  now.     The  queen 

CARLOS. 
You've  seen  my  father. 

MARQUIS. 

Yes!  he  sent  for  me. 

CARLOS  (full  of  expectation). 
Well! 

MARQUIS. 

'Tis  all  settled  —  you  may  see  the  queen. 

CARLOS. 
Yes  !  but  the  king !    What  said  the  king  to  you? 

MARQUIS. 

Not  much.     Mere  curiosity  to  learn 

My  history.     The  zeal  of  unknown  friends  — 

I  know  not  what.     He  offered  me  employment. 

CARLOS. 
Which  you,  of  course,  rejected  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Yes,  of  course ! 

CARLOS. 

How  did  you  separate  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  well  enough ! 

CARLOS. 
And  was  I  mentioned  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Yes  ;  in  general  terms. 

[Taking  out  a  pockeibook  and  giving  it  to  the  PRINCE 
See  here  are  two  lines  written  by  the  queen, 
To-morrow  I  will  settle  where  and  how. 

CARLOS  (reads  it  carelessly,  puts  the  tablet  in  his  pocket, 

and  is  going.) 
You'll  meet  me  at  the  prior's  ? 


DON  CARLOS.  255 

MAKQUIS. 

Yes !    But  stay 

Why  in  such  haste  ?    No  one  is  coming  hither. 

CARLOS  (with  a  forced  smile). 
Have  we  in  truth  changed  characters?    To-day 
You  seem  so  bold  and  confident. 

MARQUIS. 

To-day,— 
Wherefore  to-day  ? 

CARLOS. 

What  writes  the  queen  to  me? 

MARQUIS. 

Have  you  not  read  this  instant  ? 

CARLOS. 

I?    Oh  yes. 

MARQUIS. 

What  is't  disturbs  you  now  ? 

CAELOS  (reads  the  tablet  again,  delighted  and  fervently) 

Angel  of  Heaven ! 

I  will  be  so,  —  I  will  be  worthy  of  thee. 
Love  elevates  great  minds.     So  come  what  may, 
Whatever  thou  commandest,  I'll  perform. 
She  writes  that  I  must  hold  myself  prepared 
For  a  great  enterprise  !     What  can  she  mean? 
Dost  thou  not  know? 

MARQUIS. 

And,  Carlos,  if  I  knew. 
Say,  art  thou  now  prepared  to  hear  it  from  me? 

CARLOS. 

Have  I  offended  thee?     I  was  distracted. 
Roderigo,  pardon  me. 

MARQUIS. 
Distracted !     How  ? 

CARLOS. 
I  scarcely  know  !    But  may  I  keep  this  tablet? 


256  DON  CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

Not  so !    I  came  to  ask  thee  for  thine  own. 

CARLOS. 

My  tablet!     Why? 

MARQUIS. 

And  whatsoever  writing? 
You  have,  unfit  to  meet  a  stranger's  eye  — 
Letters  or  memorandums,  and  in  short, 
Your  whole  portfolio. 

CARLOS. 
Why? 

MARQUIS. 

That  we  may  be 

Prepared  for  accidents.     Who  can  prevent 
Surprise  ?     They'll  never  seek  them  in  my  keeping. 
Here,  give  them  to  me 

CARLOS  (uneasy). 

Strange !     What  can  it  mean  ? 
MARQUIS. 

Be  not  alarmed !     'Tis.  nothing  of  importance ! 
A  mere  precaution  to  prevent  surprise. 
You  need  not  be  alarmed  ! 

CARLOS  (gives  him.  the  portfolio). 

Be  careful  of  it. 

MARQUIS. 
Be  sure  I  will. 

CARLOS  (looks  at  him  significantly). 

I  give  thee  much,  Roderigo ! 

MARQUIS. 

Not  more  than  I  have  often  had  from  thee. 
The  rest  we'll  talk  of  yonder.    Now  farewell.    [  Going. 

CARLOS  (struggling  with  himself ^  then  calls  him  bacJc). 
Give  me  my  letters  back ;  there's  one  amongst  them 
The  queen  addressed  to  me  at  Alcala, 
When  I  was  sick  to  death.     Still  next  my  heart 


DON   CARLOS.  257 

I  carry  it ;  to  take  this  letter  from  me 
Goes  to  my  very  soul.     But  leave  me  that, 
And  take  the  rest. 

[He  takes  it  out,  and  returns  the  portfolio. 

MARQUIS. 

I  yield  unwillingly 

For  'twas  that  letter  which  I  most  required. 

CABLOS. 
Farewell ! 

[He  goes  aicay  slowly,  stops  a  moment  at  the  door,  turns 
back  again,  and  brings  him  the  letter. 

You  have  it  there. 

[His  hand  trembles,  tears  start  from  his  eyes,  befalls 
on  the  neck  of  the  MARQUIS,  and  presses  his  face  to 
his  bosom. 

Oh,  not  my  father, 
Could  do  so  much,  Roderigo  !     Not  my  father ! 

[Exit  hastily. 

SCENE  VI. 

MARQUIS  (looks  after  him  with  astonishment). 

And  is  this  possible  !     And  to  this  hour 

Have  I  not  known  him  fully  ?     In  his  heart 

This  blemish  has  escaped  my  eye.     Distrust 

Of  me  —  his  friend  !     But  no,  'tis  calumny ! 

What  hath  he  done  that  I  accuse  him  thus 

Of  weakest  weakness.     I  myself  commit 

The  fault  I  charge  on  him.     What  have  I  done 

Might  well  surprise  him  !     When  hath  he  displayed 

To  his  best  friend  such  absolute  reserve  ? 

Carlos,  I  must  afflict  thee  —  there's  no  help  — 

And  longer  still  distress  thy  noble  soul. 

In  me  the  king  hath  placed  his  confidence, 

His  holiest  trust  reposed  —  as  in  a  casket, 

And  this  reliance  calls  for  gratitude. 

How  can  disclosure  serve  thee  when  my  silence 

Brings  thee  no  harm  —  serves  thee,  perhaps  ?    Ah !   why 

Point  to  the  traveller  the  impending  storm  ? 


258  DOX    CARLOS. 

Enough,  if  I  direct  its  anger  past  thee ! 

And  when  thou  wakest  the  sky's  again  serene.         [Exit 

SCENE  VII. 

The  KING'S  Cabinet. 

The  KING  seated,  near  him  the  INFANTA  CLARA  EUGENIA. 

KING  (after  a  deep  silence). 

No  —  she  is  sure  my  daughter  —  or  can  nature 

Thus  lie  like  truth !     Yes,  that  blue  eye  is  mine! 

And  I  am  pictured  in  thy  every  feature. 

Child  of  my  love  !  for  such  thou  art  —  I  fold  thee 

Thus  to  my  heart ;  thou  art  my  blood.    [/Starts  and  pauses. 

My  blood  — 

What's  worse  to  fear?     Are  not  my  features  his  ? 

[  Takes  the  miniature  in  his  hand  and  looks  first  at 
the  portrait,  then  at  the  mirror  opposite  ;  at  last  he 
throws  it  on  the  (/round,  rises  hastily,  and  pushes 
the  INFANTA  from  him. 

Away,  away !     I'm  lost  in  this  abyss. 

SCENE  VIII. 
COUNT  LERMA  and  the  KING. 

LERMA. 
Her  majesty  is  in  the  antechamber. 

KING. 
What!     Now? 

LERMA. 

And  begs  the  favor  of  an  audience. 

KING. 

Now!     At  this  unaccustomed  hour!     Not  now  — 
I  cannot  see  her  yet. 

LERMA. 

Here  comes  the  queen. 

\Exit  LERMA. 


DON  CARLOS.  25& 

SCENE  IX. 
The  KING,  the  QUEEN  enters,  and  the  INFANTA. 

The   INFANTA    runs  to  meet  the  QUEEN   and  clings  to 
her;  the  QUEEN  falls  at  the  KING'S  feet,  who  is  silent, 
and  appears  confused  and  embarrassed. 
QUEEN. 

My  lord  !     My  husband !     I'm  constrained  to  seek 

Justice  before  the  throne  ! 

KING. 

What?    Justice! 

QUEEN. 

Yes! 

I'm  treated  with  dishonor  at  the  court ! 
My  casket  has  been  rifled. 

KING. 
What !    Your  casket  ? 

QUEEN. 

And  things  I  highly  value  have  been  plundered. 

KING. 
Things  that  you  highly  value. 

QUEEN. 

From  the  meaning 
Which  ignorant  men's  officiousness,  perhaps, 

Might  give  to  them 

KING. 

What's  this  ?    Officiousnesa, 
And  meaning !     How  ?    But  rise. 

QUEEN. 

Oh  no,  my  husband ! 

Not  till  you  bind  yourself  by  sacred  promise, 
By  virtue  of  your  own  authority, 
To  find  the  offender  out,  and  grant  redress, 
Or  else  dismiss  my  suite,  which  hides  a  thief. 

KING. 
But  rise !     In  such  a  posture  !     Pray  you,  rise. 


260  DON   CARLO?. 

QUEEN  (rises). 

'Tis  some  one  of  distinction  —  I  know  well; 
My  casket  held  both  diamonds  and  pearls 
Of  matchless  value,  but  he  only  took 
My  letters. 

KING. 

May  I  ask 

QUEEN. 

Undoubtedly, 

My  husband.     They  were  letters  from  the  prince : 
His  miniature  as  well. 

KING. 
From  whom? 

QUEEN. 

The  prince, 
Your  son. 

KINO. 
To  you? 

QUEEN. 

Sent  by  the  prince  to  me. 

KING. 
What !     From  Prince  Carlos !     Do  you  tell  me  that  ? 

QUEEN. 
Why  not  tell  you,  my  husband  ? 

KING. 

And  not  blush. 

QUEEN. 

What  mean  you?     You  must  surely  recollect 

T:ie  letters  Carlos  sent  me  to  St.  Germains, 

With  both  courts'  full  consent.     Whether  that  leave 

Extended  to  the  portrait,  or  alone 

His  hasty  hope  dictated  such  a  step, 

I  cannot  now  pretend  to  answer ;  but 

If  even  rash,  it  may  at  least  be  pardoned 

For  thus  much  I  may  be  his  pledge  —  that  then 

He  never  thought  the  gift  was  for  his  mother. 

[  Observes  the  agitation  of  the  KING, 
What  moves  you ?     What's  the  matter? 


DON    CARLOS.  261 

INFANTA  (who  has  found  the  miniature  on  the  ground, 
and  has  been  playing  with  it,  brings  it  to  the  QUEEN. 

Look,  dear  mother ! 
See  what  a  pretty  picture ! 

QUEEN. 

What  then  my 

[She  recognizes  the  miniature,  and  remains  in  speech- 
less astonishment.  They  both  gaze  at  each  other. 
After  a  long  pause. 

In  trutn,  this  mode  of  trying  a  wife's  heart 
Is  great  and  royal,  sire!  But  I  should  wish 
To  ask  one  question  ? 

KING. 
'Tis  for  me  to  question. 

QUEEN. 

Let  my  suspicions  spare  the  innocent. 
And  if  by  your  command  this  theft  was  done 

KING. 

It  was  so  done ! 

QUEEN. 

Then  I  have  none  to  blame, 
And  none  to  pity  —  other  than  yourself  — 
Since  you  possess  a  wife  on  whom  such  schemes 
Are  thrown  away. 

KING. 

This  language  is  not  new  — 
Nor  shall  you,  madam,  now  again  deceive  me 
As  in  the  gardens  of  Aranjuez  — 
My  queen  of  angel  purity,  who  then 
So  haughtily  my  accusation  spurned  — 
I  know  her  better  now. 

QUEEN. 

What  mean  you,  sire? 

KING. 

Madam  !  thus  briefly  and  without  reserve  — 
Say  is  it  true?  still  true,  that  you  conversed 
With  no  one  there?  Is  really  that  the  truth? 


262  DON   CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

I  spoke  there  with  the  prince. 

KING. 

Then  it  is  clear 
As  day !     So  daring  !  heedless  of  mine  honor  ! 

QUEEN. 

Your  honor,  sire  !     If  that  be  now  the  question, 
A  greater  honor  is,  methinks,  at  stake 
Than  Castile  ever  brought  me  as  a  dowry. 

KING. 
Why  did  you  then  deny  the  prince's  presence  ? 

QUEEN. 

Because  I'm  not  accustomed  to  be  questioned 

Like  a  delinquent    before  all  your  courtiers; 

I  never  shall  deny  the  truth  when  asked 

With  kindness  and  respect.     Was  that  the  tone 

Your  majesty  used  towards  me  in  Aranjuez  ? 

Are  your  assembled  grandees  the  tribunal 

Queens  must  account  to  for  their  private  conduct? 

I  gave  the  prince  the  interview  he  sought 

With  earnest  prayer,  because,  my  liege  and  lord, 

I  —  the  queen  —  wished  and  willed  it,  and  because 

I  never  can  admit  that  formal  custom 

Should  sit  as  judge  on  actions  that  are  guiltless; 

And  I  concealed  it  from  your  majesty 

Because  I  chose  not  to  contend  with  you 

About  this  right  in  presence  of  your  courtiers. 

KING. 

You  speak  with  boldness,  madam ! 

QUEEN. 

I  may  add, 

Because  the  prince,  in  his  own  father's  heart, 
Scarce  finds  that  kindness  he  so  well  deserves. 

KING. 

So  well  deserves ! 


DON   CARLOS.  263 

QUEEN. 

Why,  sii'e !  should  I  conceal  it ! 
Highly  do  I  esteem  him  —  yes  !  and  love  him 
As  a  most  dear  relation,  who  was  once 
Deemed  worthy  of  a  dearer  —  tenderer — title. 
I've  yet  to  learn  that  he,  on  this  account, 
Should  be  estranged  from  me  beyond  all  others,  — 
Because  he  once  was  better  loved  than  they. 
Though  your  state  policy  may  knit  together 
What  bands  it  pleases  —  'tis  a  harder  task 
To  burst  such  ties !     I  will  not  hate  another 
For  any  one's  command  —  and  since  I  must 
So  speak  —  such  dictates  I  will  not  endure. 

KING. 

Elizabeth  !  you've  seen  me  in  weak  moments  — 
And  their  remembrance  now  emboldens  you. 
On  that  strong  influence  you  now  depend, 
Which  you  have  often,  with  so  much  success, 
Against  my  firmness  tried.     But  fear  the  more ! 
The  power  which  has  seduced  me  to  be  weak 
May  yet  inflame  me  to  some  act  of  madness. 

QUEEN. 
What  have  I  done  ? 

KING  (takes  her  hand). 

If  it  should  prove  but  so  — 
And  is  it  not  already  ?    If  the  full 
Accumulated  measure  of  your  guilt 
Become  but  one  breath  heavier  —  should  I  be 

Deceived  • [Lets  her  hand  go, 

I  can  subdue  these  last  remains 
Of  weakness  —  can  and  will  —  then  woe  betide 
Myself  and  you,  Elizabeth ! 

QUEEN. 

What  crime 
Have  I  committed  ? 


Shall  blood  be  shed. 


KING. 

On  my  own  account  then 


264  DON   CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

And  has  it  come  to  this? 
Oh,  Heaven ! 

KING. 

I  shall  forget  myself  —  I  shall 
Regard  no  usage  and  no  voice  of  nature  — 
Not  e'en  the  law  of  nations. 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  how  much 
I  pity  you ! 

KING. 
The  pity  of  a  harlot ! 

INFANTA  (clinging  to  her  mother  in  terror). 
The  king  is  angry,  and  my  mother  weeps. 

[KiNG  pushes  the  child  violently  from  the  QUEEN. 

QUEEN  (with  mildness  and  dignity,  but  with  faltering 

voice). 

This  child  I  must  protect  from  cruelty  — 
Come  with  me,  daughter.  [-Takes  her  in  her  arms. 

If  the  king  no  more 

Acknowledge  thee  —  beyond  the  Pyrenees 
I'll  call  protectors  to  defend  our  cause.  [  Going. 

KING  (embarrassed). 
Queen ! 

QUEEN. 

I  can  bear  no  more  —  it  is  too  much  ! 
[Hastening  to  the  door^  she  falls  with  her  child  on 
the  threshold. 

KING  (running  to  her  assistance). 
Heavens  !    What  is  that? 

INFANTA  (cries  out  with  terror). 

She  bleeds!    My  mother  bleeds ! 
[Runs  out. 

KING  (anxiously  assisting  her). 
Oh,  what  a  fearful  accident !     You  bleed  ; 
Do  I  deserve  this  cruel  punishment  ? 
Rise  and  collect  yourself  —  rise,  they  are  coming ! 


DON   CARLOS.  265 

They  will  surprise  us !     Shall  the  assembled  court 
Divert  themselves  with  such  a  spectacle  ? 
Must  I  entreat  you  ?    Rise. 

[She  rises,  supported  by  the  KINO 

SCENE  X. 

The  former,  ALVA,  DOMINGO  entering,  alarmed,  ladies 
follow. 

KING. 

Now  let  the  queen 
Be  led  to  her  apartment;  site's  unwell. 

\_Exit  the  QUEEN,  attended  by  her  ladies.     ALVA  and 
DOMINGO  come  forward. 

ALVA. 
The  queen  in  tears,  and  blood  upon  her  face ! 

KING. 
Does  that  surprise  the  devils  who've  misled  me? 

ALVA  and  DOMINGO. 
We? 

KING. 

You  have  said  enough  to  drive  me  mad. 
But  nothing  to  convince  me. 

ALVA. 

We  gave  you 
What  we  ourselves  possessed. 

KING. 

May  hell  reward  you ! 

I've  done  what  I  repent  of !     Ah  !  was  hers 
The  language  of  a  conscience  dark  with  guilt  ? 

MAKQUIS  POSA  (from  without), 
Say,  can  I  see  the  king? 

SCENE  XI. 

The  former,  MARQUIS  POSA. 

KING  (starts  up  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  advances 
some  paces  to  meet  him). 

Ah  !  here  he  comes. 


266  DON   CARLOS. 

Right  welcome,  marquis  !     Duke  !  I  need  you  now 
No  longer.     Leave  us. 

[ALVA  and  DOMINGO  look  at  each  other  with  silent 
astonishment  and  retire. 

SCENE  XII. 
The  KING,  and  MARQUIS  POSA. 

MARQUIS. 

That  old  soldier,  sire, 

Who  has  faced  death,  in  twenty  battles,  for  you, 
Must  hold  it  thankless  to  be  so  dismissed. 

KING. 

'Tis  thus  for  you  to  think  —  for  me  to  act ; 
In  a  few  hours  you  have  been  more  to  me 
Than  that  man  in  a  lifetime.     Nor  shall  I 
Keep  my  content  a  secret.      On  your  brow 
The  lustre  of  my  high  and  royal  favor 
Shall  shine  resplendent  —  I  will  make  that  man 
A  mark  for  envy  whom  I  choose  my  friend. 

MARQUIS. 

What  if  the  veil  of  dark  obscurity 
Were  his  sole  claim  to  merit  such  a  title? 

KING. 
What  come  you  now  to  tell  me  ? 

MARQUIS. 

As  I  passed 

Along  the  antechamber  a  dread  rumor 
Fell  on  my  ear,  —  it  seemed  incredible, — 
Of  a  most  angry  quarrel  —  blood  —  the  queen 

KING. 
Come  you  from  her? 

MARQUIS. 

I  should  be  horrified 

Were  not  the  rumor  false  :  or  should  perhaps 
Your  majesty  meantime  have  done  some  act  — 
Discoveries  of  importance  I  have  made, 
Which  wholly  change  the  aspect  of  affairs. 


DON   CARLOS.  267 

KING. 

How  now? 

MARQUIS. 

I  found  an  opportunity 
To  seize  your  son's  portfolio,  with  his  letters, 

Which,  as  I  hope,  may  throw  some  light 

\_He  gives  the  PRINCE'S  portfolio  to  the  KING. 

KING  (looks  through  it  eagerly). 

A  letter 

From  the  emperor,  my  father.     How  !  a  letter 
Of  which  I  ne'er  remember  to  have  heard. 

\_He  reads  it  through,  puts  it  aside,  and  goes  to  the 

other  papers. 
A  drawing  of  some  fortress  —  detached  thoughts 

O  O 

From  Tacitus  — and  what  is  here  ?     The  hand 
I  surely  recognize — it  is  a  lady's. 

[He  reads  it  attentively,  partly  to  himself,  and  partly 

aloud. 

"This  key  — the  farthest  chamber  of  the  queen's 
Pavilion  !  "      Ha  !  what's  this  ?   "  The  voice  of  love,  — 
The  timid  lover  —  may. —  a  rich  reward." 
Satanic  treachery  !     I  see  it  now. 
'Tis  she  —  'tis  her  own  writing ! 

MARQUIS. 

The  queen's  writing ! 
Impossible  ? 

KING. 

The  Princess  Eboli's. 

MARQUIS. 

Then,  it  was  true,  what  the  queen's  page  confessed, 
Not  long  since  —  that  he  brought  this  key  and  letter. 

KING  (grasping  the  MARQUIS'  hand  in  great  emotion). 

Marquis  !     I  see  that  I'm  in  dreadful  hands. 
This  woman  — I  confess  it  —  'twas  this  woman 
Forced  the  queen's  casket :  and  my  first  suspicions 
Were  breathed  by  her.    Who  knows  how  deep  the  priest 
May  be  engaged  in  this?    I  am  deceived 
By  cursed  villany. 


268  DON   CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

Then  it  was  lucky 

KING. 

Marquis  !  O  marquis !     I  begin  to  fear 
I've  wronged  ray  wife. 

MARQUIS. 

If  there  exist  between 

The  prince  and  queen  some  secret  understandings, 
They  are  of  other  import,  rest  assured, 
Than  those  they  charge  her  with.     I  know,  for  certain, 
The  prince's  prayer  to  be  despatched  to  Flanders 
Was  by  the  queen  suggested. 

KING. 

I  have  thought  so. 

MARQUIS. 

The  queen's  ambitious.     Dare  I  speak  more  fully? 

She  sees,  with  some  resentment,  her  high  hopes 

All  disappointed,  and  herself  shut  out 

From  share  of  empire.     Your  son's  youthful  ardor 

Offers  itself  to  her  far-reaching  views, 

Her  heart !  I  doubt  if  she  can  love. 

KING. 

Her  schemes 
Of  policy  can  never  make  me  tremble. 

MARQUIS. 

Whether  the  Infant  loves  her  —  whether  we 
Have  something  worse  to  fear  from  him, —  are  things 
Worthy  our  deep  attention.     To  these  points 
Our  strictest  vigilance  must  be  directed. 

KING. 

You  must  be  pledge  for  him. 
MARQUIS. 

And  if  the  king 

Esteem  me  capable  of  such  a  task, 
I  must  entreat  it  be  intrusted  to  me 
Wholly  without  conditions. 


DON    CARLOS.  269 

KING. 

So  it  shall. 

MARQUIS. 

That  in  the  steps  which  I  may  think  required, 
I  may  be  thwarted  by  no  coadjutors, 
Whatever  name  they  bear. 

KING. 

I  pledge  my  word 

You  shall  not.     You  have  proved  my  guardian  angel. 
How  many  thanks  I  owe  you  for  this  service ! 

[LERMA  enters  —  the  KING  to  him. 
How  did  you  leave  the  queen  ? 

LERMA. 

But  scarce  recovered 
From  her  deep  swoon. 

[He  looks  at  the  MARQUIS  doubtfully ',  and  exit. 

MARQUIS  (to  the  KING,  after  a  pause}. 

One  caution  yet  seems  needful, 
The  prince  may  be  advised  of  our  design, 
For  he  has  many  faithful  friends  in  Ghent, 
And  may  have  partisans  among  the  rebels. 
Fear  may  incite  to  desperate  resolves ; 
Therefore  I  counsel  that  some  speedy  means 
Be  taken  to  prevent  this  fatal  chance. 

KING. 
You  are  quite  right  —  but  how  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Your  majesty 

May  sign  a  secret  warrant  of  arrest 
And  place  it  in  my  hands,  to  be  employed, 
As  may  seem  needful,  in  the  hour  of  danger. 

[  The  KING  appears  thoughtful. 
This  step  must  be  a  most  profound  state  secret 
Until 

KING  (going  to  his  desk  and  writing  the  warrant  of  arrest). 

The  kingdom  is  at  stake,  and  now 
The  pressing  danger  sanctions  urgent  measures. 
Here  marquis!  I  need  scarcely  say  —  use  prudence. 


270  DON   CARLOS. 

MARQUIS  (taking  the  warrant}. 
'Tis  only  for  the  last  extremity. 

KING  (laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  MARQUIS). 
Go  !    Go,  dear  marquis  !    Give  this  bosom  peace, 
And  bring  back  slumber  to  my  sleepless  pillow. 

[Exeunt  at  different  sides. 

SCENE  XIII. 
A  Gallery. 

CAKLOS   entering  in  extreme  agitation,  COUNT   LERMA 
meeting  him. 

CARLOS. 
I  have  been  seeking  you. 

LERMA. 

And  I  your  highness. 
CARLOS. 
For  heaven's  sake  is  it  true  ? 

LERMA. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 
CARLOS. 

That  the  king  drew  his  dagger,  and  that  she    • 
Was  borne,  all  bathed  in  blood,  from  the  apartment? 
Now  answer  me,  by  all  that's  sacred  ;  say, 
What,  am  I  to  believe?     What  truth  is  in  it? 

LERMA. 

She  fainted,  and  so  grazed  her  skin  in  falling : 
That  is  the  whole. 

CARLOS. 

Is  there  no  further  danger? 
Count,  answer  on  your  honor. 

LERMA. 

For  the  queen 
No  further  danger ;  for  yourself  there's  much ! 


DON    CARLOS.  271 

CARLOS. 

None  for  my  mother.     Then,  kind  Heaven,  I  thank  thee. 
A  dreadful  rumor  reached  me  that  the  king 
Raved  against  child  and  mother,  and  that  some 
Dire  secret  was  discovered. 

LERMA. 

And  the  last 
31  ay  possibly  be  true. 

CARLOS. 
Be  true  !     What  mean  you  ? 

LERMA. 

One  warning  have  I  given  you,  prince,  already, 
And  that  to-day,  but  you  despised  it ;  now 
Perhaps  you'll  protit  better  by  a  second. 

CARLOS. 
Explain  yourself. 

LERMA. 

If  I  mistake  not,  prince, 
A  few  days  since  I  noticed  in  your  hands 
An  azure-blue  portfolio,  worked  in  velvet 
And  chased  with  gold. 

CARLOS  (with  anxiety). 

Yes,  I  had  such  a  one. 
LERMA. 

And  on  the  cover,  if  I  recollect, 
A  portrait  set  in  pearls  ? 

CARLOS. 

'Tis  right ;  go  on. 

LERMA. 

I  entered  the  king's  chamber  on  a  sudden, 
And  in  his  hands  I  marked  that  same  portfolio, 
The  Marquis  Posa  standing  by  his  side. 

CARLOS  (after  a  short  silence  of  astonishment,  hastily). 
'Tis  false ! 

LERMA  (warmly). 
Then  I'm  a  traitor  ! 


272  DON   CARLOS. 

CAKLOS  (looking  steadfastly  at  him). 

That  you  are ! 

LERMA. 

Well,  I  forgive  you. 

CARLOS  (paces   the  apartment   in  extreme  agitation,  at 
length  stands  still  before  hitn). 

Has  he  injured  thee? 

What  have  our  guiltless  ties  of  friendship  done, 
That  with  a  demon's  zeal  thou  triest  to  rend  them  ? 

LERMA. 

Prince,  I  respect  the  grief  which  renders  you 
So  far  unjust. 

CARLOS. 
Heaven  shield  me  from  suspicion ! 

LERMA. 

And  I  remember,  too,  the  king's  own  words. 
Just  as  I  entered  he  addressed  the  marquis  : 
"  How  many  thanks  I  owe  you  for  this  news." 

CARLOS. 
Oh,  say  no  more ! 

LERMA. 

Duke  Alva  is  disgraced  ! 

The  great  seal  taken  from  the  Prince  Ruy  Gomez, 
And  given  to  the  marquis. 

CARLOS  (lost  in  deep  thought). 

And  from  me 
Has  he  concealed  all  this  ?    And  why  from  me  ? 

LERMA. 

As  minister  all-powerful,  the  court 
Looks  on  him  now  —  as  favorite  unrivalled ! 

CARLOS. 

He  loved  me  — loved  me  greatly  :  I  was  dear 
As  his  own  soul  is  to  him.     That  I  know  — 
Of  that  I've  had  a  thousand  proofs.     But  should 
The  happiness  of  millions  yield  to  one? 
Must  not  his  country  dearer  to  him  prove 


DON    CARLOS.  273 

Than  Carlos  ?    One  friend  only  is  too  few 

For  his  capacious  heart.     And  not  enough 

Is  Carlos'  happiness  to  engross  his  love. 

He  offers  me  a  sacrifice  to  virtue  ; 

And  shall  I  murmur  at  him  ?    Now  'tis  certain 

I  have  forever  lost  him. 

[He  steps  aside  and  covers  his  face. 

LERMA. 

Dearest  prince ! 
How  can  I  serve  you  ? 

CAELOS  (without  looking  at  him). 
Get  you  to  the  king ; 
Go  and  betray  me.    I  have  naught  to  give. 

LERMA. 
Will  you  then  stay  and  brave  the  ill  that  follows  ? 

CARLOS  (leans  on  a  balustrade  and  looks  forward  with  a 

vacant  gaze). 

I've  lost  him  now,  and  I  am  destitute ! 
LERMA  (approaching  him  with  sympathizing  emotion). 
And  will  you  not  consult  your  safety,  prince  ? 

CARLOS. 
My  safety !    Generous  man  ! 

LERMA. 

And  is  there,  then, 
No  other  person  you  should  tremble  for  ? 

CARLOS  (starts  up). 

Heavens !  you  remind  me  now.    Alas !   My  mother ! 
The  letter  that  I  gave  him  —  first  refused  — 
Then  after  gave  him  ! 

[He  paces  backwards  and  forwards  with  agitation, 
wringing  his  hands. 

Has  she  then  deserved 

This  blow  from  him  ?  He  should  have  spared  her,  Lerma. 

[In  a  hasty,  determined  tone. 
But  I  must  see  her  —  warn  her  of  her  danger  — 
I  must  prepare  her,  Lerma,  dearest  Lerma! 


274  DON    CARLOS. 

Whom  shall  I  send  ?     Have  I  no  friend  remaining  ? 
Yes  !   Heaven  be  praised  !     I  still  have  one  ;  and  now 
The  worst  is  over.  [Exit  quickly 

LEEMA  (folloics,  and  calls  after  him). 
Whither,  whither,  prince  ? 

SCENE    IV. 

The  QUEEN,  ALVA,  DOMINGO. 
ALVA. 

If  we  may  be  permitted,  gracious  queen 

.QUEEN. 
What  are  your  wishes? 

DOMINGO. 

A  most  true  regard 
For  your  high  majesty  forbids  us  now 
To  watch  in  careless  silence  an  event 
Pregnant  with  danger  to  your  royal  safety. 

ALVA. 

We  hasten,  by  a  kind  and  timely  warning, 
To  counteract  a  plot  that's  laid  against  you. 

DOMINGO. 

And  our  warm  zeal,  and  our  best  services, 
To  lay  before  your  feet,  most  gracious  queen  ! 

QUEEN  (looking  at  them  with  astonishment). 
Most  reverend  sir,  and  you,  my  noble  duke, 
You  much  surprise  me.     Such  sincere  attachment, 
In  truth,  I  had  not  hoped  for  from  Domingo, 
Nor  from  Duke  Alva.     Much  I  value  it. 
A  plot  you  mention,  menacing  my  safety  — 
Dare  I  inquire  by  whom 

ALVA. 

We  must  entreat 

You  will  beware  a  certain  Marquis  Posa. 
He  has  of  late  been  secretly  employed 
In  the  king's  service. 


DON    CARLOS.  275 

QUEEN. 

With  delight  I  hear 

The  king  has  made  so  excellent  a  choice. 
Report,  long  since,  has  spoken  of  the  marquis 
As  a  deserving,  great,  and  virtuous  man  — 
The  royal  grace  was  ne'er  so  well  bestowed ! 

DOMINGO. 
So  well  bestowed  !     We  think  far  otherwise. 

ALVA. 

It  is  no  secret  now,  for  what  designs 
This  man  has  been  employed. 

QUEEN. 

How !     What  designs  ? 
You  put  my  expectation  on  the  rack. 

DOMINGO. 

How  long  is  it  since  last  your  majesty 
Opened  your  casket  ? 

QUEEN. 

Why  do  you  inquire  ? 
DOMINGO. 
Did  you  not  miss  some  articles  of  value  ? 

QUEEN. 

Why  these  suspicions  ?     What  I  missed  was  then 
Known  to  the  court !     But  what  of  Marquis  Posa? 
Say,  what  connection  has  all  this  with  him? 

ALVA. 

The  closest,  please  your  majesty  —  the  prince 
Has  lost  some  papers  of  importance; 
And  they  were  seen  this  morning  with  the  king 
After  the  marquis  had  an  audience  of  him. 

QUEEN  (after  some  consideration). 
This  news  is  strange  indeed  —  inexplicable  — 
To  find  a  foe  where  I  could  ne'er  have  dreamed  it, 
And  two  warm  friends  I  knew  not  I  possessed ! 

[Fixing  her  eyes  steadfastly  upon  them. 


276  DON    CARLOS. 

And,  to  speak  truth,  I  had  well  nigh  imputed 
To  you  the  wicked  turn  my  husband  served  me. 

ALVA. 
To  us! 

QUEEN. 

To  you  yourselves ! 

DOMINGO. 

.      To  us  !  Duke  Alva ! 

QUEEN  (her  eyes  still  fastened  on  them). 

I  am  glad  to  be  so  timely  made  aware 

Of  my  rash  judgment  —  else  had  I  resolved 

This  very  day  to  beg  his  majesty 

Would  bring  me  face  to  face  with  my  accusers. 

But  I'm  contented  now.     I  can  appeal 

To  the  Duke  Alva  for  his  testimony. 

ALVA. 
For  mine  ?    You  would  not  sure  do  that ! 

QUEEN. 

Why  not  ? 

ALVA. 

'T  would  counteract  the  services  we  might 
Render  in  secret  to  you. 

QUEEN. 

How !  in  secret  ? 

[  With  stern  dignity. 

I  fain  would  know  what  secret  projects,  duke, 
Your  sovereign's  spouse  can  have  to  form  with  you, 
Or,  priest !  with  you  — her  husband  should  not  know  ? 
Think  you  that  I  am  innocent  or  guilty  ? 

DOMINGO. 
Strange  question ! 

ALVA. 

Should  the  monarch  prove  unjust  — 
And  at  this  time 


DON    CARLOS.  277 

QUEEN. 

Then  I  must  wait  for  justice 
Until  it  come  —  and  they  are  happiest  far 
Whose  consciences  may  calmly  wait  their  right. 

\_£oics   to   them  and  exit.     DOMINGO  and  ALVA 
exeunt  on  the  opposite  side. 

SCENE  XV. 

Chamber  of  PRINCESS  EBOLI. 
PRINCESS  EBOLI.     CARLOS  immediately  after. 

EBOLI. 

Is  it  then  true  —  the  strange  intelligence, 
That  fills  the  court  with  wonder  ? 

CARLOS  (enters). 

Do  not  fear 
Princess !  I  shall  be  gentle  as  a  child. 

EBOLI. 
Prince,  this  intrusion ! 

CARLOS. 
Are  you  angry  still  ? 


Offended  still  with  me 


EBOLI. 

Prince ! 

CARLOS  (earnestly). 

Are  you  angry  ? 
I  pray  you  answer  me. 

EBOLI. 

What  can  this  mean? 
You  seem,  prince,  to  forget — what  would  you  with  me? 

CARLOS  (seizing  her  hand  with  warmth). 
Dear  maiden  !     Can  you  hate  eternally  ? 
Can  injured  love  ne'er  pardon  ? 

EBOLI  (disengaging  herselj). 

Prince !  of  what 
Would  you  remind  me? 


278  DON   CARLOS. 

CAELOS. 

Of  your  kindness,  dearest ! 
And  of  my  deep  ingratitude.     Alas, 
Too  well  I  know  it !  deeply  have  I  wronged  thee  — 
Wounded  thy  tender  heart,  and  from  thine  eyes, 
Thine  angel  eyes,  wrung  precious  tears,  sweet  maid ! 
But  ah  !  'tis  not  repentance  leads  me  hither. 

EBOLI. 
Prince  !  leave  me  —  I 

CARLOS. 

I  come  to  thee,  because 
Thou  art  a  maid  of  gentle  soul  —  because 
I  trust  thy  heart  —  thy  kind  and  tender  heart. 
Think,  dearest  maiden  !  think,  I  have  no  friend, 
No  friend  but  thee,  in  all  this  wretched  world  — 
Thou  who  wert  once  so  kind  wilt  not  forever 
Hate  me,  nor  will  thy  anger  prove  eternal. 

EBOLI  (turning  away  her  face). 

0  cease !  No  more!  for  heaven's  sake!  leave  me,  prince 

CAELOS. 

Let  me  remind  thee  of  those  golden  hours  — 
Let  me  remind  thee  of  thy  love,  sweet  maid  — 
That  love  which  I  so  basely  have  offended  ! 
Oh,  let  me  now  appear  to  thee  again 
As  once  I  was  —  and  as  thy  heart  portrayed  me. 
Yet  once  again,  once  only,  place  my  image, 
As  in  days  past,  before  thy  tender  soul, 
And  to  that  idol  make  a  sacrifice 
Thou  canst  not  make  to  me. 

EBOH. 

Oh,  Carlos,  cease ! 
Too  cruelly  thou  sportest  with  my  feelings ! 

CARLOS. 

Be  nobler  than  thy  sex !     Forgive  an  insult ! 
Do  what  no  woman  e'er  has  done  before  thee, 
And  what  no  woman,  after  thee,  can  equal. 

1  ask  of  thee  an  unexampled  favor. 


DON   CARLOS.  279 

Grant  me  — upon  my  knees  I  ask  of  thee  — 

Grant  me  two  moments  with  the  queen,  my  mother ! 

\_He  casts  himself  at  her  feet. 

SCENE  XVI. 

The  former.     MAEQUIS  POSA  rushes  in  ;  behind  him  two 
officers  of  the  Queen^s  Guard. 

MARQUIS  (breathless  and  agitated,  rushing  between  CABLOS 

and  the  PRINCESS) . 
Say,  what  has  he  confessed  ?    Believe  him  not ! 

CARLOS  (still  on  his  knees,  with  loud  voice). 
By  all  that's  holy  - 

MARQUIS  (interrupting  him  with  vehemence). 
He  is  mad  !     He  raves ! 
Oh,  listen  to  him  not ! 

CAP.LOS  (louder  and  more  urgent). 

It  is  a  question 
Of  life  and  death  ;  conduct  me  to  her  straight. 

MARQUIS  (dragging  the  PRINCESS/TOW  him  by  force). 
You  die,  if  you  but  listen. 

[  To  one  of  the  officers,  showing  an  order. 

Count  of  Cordova! 

In  the  king's  name,  Prince  Carlos  is  your  prisoner. 
[CARLOS  stands  bewildered.  The  PRINCESS  utters  a 
cry  of  horror,  and  tries  to  escape.  The  officers  are 
astounded.  A  long  and  deep  pause  ensues.  The 
MARQUIS  trembles  violently,  and  with  difficulty 
preserves  his  composure.  [  To  the  PRINCE. 

I  beg  your  sword  —  The  Princess  Eboli 

Remains [  To  the  officers. 

And  you,  on  peril  of  your  lives, 
Let  no  one  with  his  highness  speak  —  no  person  — 
Not  e'en  yourselves. 

[He  whispers  a  few  words  to  one  officer,  then  turns 
to  the  other. 

I  hasten,  instantly, 


280  DON    CARLOS. 

To  cast  myself  before  our  monarch's  feet, 

And  justify  this  step [  To  the  PRINCE 

And  prince !  for  you  — 
Expect  me  in  an  hour. 

[CAKLOS  permits  himself  to  be  led  away  without  am, 
signs  of  consciousness,  except  that  -in  passing  I  < 
casts  a  languid^  dying  look  on  the  MARQUIS.  Tin. 
PRINCESS  endeavors  again  to  escape;  the  MAR- 
QUIS pulls  her  back  by  the  arri. 

SCENE  XVII. 
PRINCESS  EBOLI,  MARQUIS  POSA. 

EBOLI. 
For  Heaven's  sake  let  me  leave  this  place 


MARQUIS  (leads  her  forward  with  dreadful  earnestness). 

Thou  w retell ! 
What  has  he  said  to  thee? 

EBOLI. 

Oh,  leave  me!  Nothing. 
MARQUIS  (icith  earnestness  ;  holding  her  back  by  force). 

How  much  has  he  imparted  to  thee?     Here 
No  way  is  left  thee  to  escape.     To  none 
In  this  world  shall  thou  ever  tell  it. 

EBOLI  (looking  at  him  with  terror). 

Heavens ! 
What  would  you  do?     Would  you  then  murder  me? 

MARQUIS  (drawing  a  dagger). 
Yes,  that  is  my  resolve.     Be  speedy ! 

EBOLI. 

Mercy ! 
What  have  I  then  committed  ? 

MARQUIS  (looking  towards  heaven,  points  the  dagger  to 
her  breast). 

Still  there's  time  — 
The  poison  has  not  issued  from  these  lips. 


DON    CARLOS.  281 

Dash  but  the  bowl  to  atoms,  all  remains 
Still  as  before  !  The  destinies  of  Spain 
Against  a  woman's  life  ! 

[Remains  doubtingly  in  this  position. 

EBOLI  (having  sunk  dcnon  beside  him,  looks  in  his  face). 

Do  not  delay  — 

Why  do  yon  hesitate  ?     I  beg  no  mercy  — 
I  have  deserved  to  die,  and  I  am  ready. 

MARQUIS  (letting  his  hand  drop  slowly  —  after  some 

reflection). 

It  were  as  cowardly  as  barbarous. 
No !  God  be  praised !  another  way  is  left. 

[He  lets  the  dagger  fall  and  hurries  out.     The 
PRINCESS  hastens  out  through  another  door. 

SCENE  XVIII. 

A  Chamber  of  the  Queen. 

The  QUEEN  to  the  COUNTESS  FUENTES. 

What  means  this  noisy  tumult  in  the  palace? 
Each  breath  to-day  alarms  me !     Countess  !  see 
What  it  portends,  and  hasten  back  with  speed. 

[Exit  COUNTESS  FUENTES  —  the  PRINCESS  EBOLI 
rushes  in. 

SCENE  XIX. 

The  QUEEN,  PRINCESS  EBOLI. 

EBOLI  (breathless,  pale,  and  wild,  falls  before  the  QUEEN). 
Help  !  Help !  O  Queen  !  he's  seized  ! 

QUEEN. 

Who? 

EBOLI. 

He's  arrested 
By  the  king's  orders  given  to  Marquis  Posa. 

QUEEN. 
Who  is  arrested  ?    Who  ? 

EBOLI. 

The  prince ! 


282  DON    CARLOS. 

QUEEN. 

Thou  ravest ! 

EBOLI. 

This  moment  they  are  leading  him  away. 

QUEEN. 
And  who  arrested  him  ? 

EBOLI. 

The  Marquis  Posa. 

QUEEN. 
Then  heaven  be  praised  !   it  was  the  marquis  seized  him  ! 

EBOLI. 

Can  you  speak  thus,  and  with  such  tranquil  mien? 
Oh,  heavens  !  you  do  not  know  —  you  cannot  think  — 

QUEEN. 

The  cause  of  his  arrest !  some  trifling  error, 
Doubtless  arising  from  his  headlong  youth! 

EBOLI. 

No !  no !     I  know  far  better.     No,  my  queen ! 
Remorseless  treachery !     There's  no  help  for  him. 
He  dies ! 

QUEEN. 
He  dies ! 

EBOLI. 
And  I'm  his  murderer ! 

QUEEN. 

What  !     Dies  ?    Thou  ravest !     Think   what  thou  art 
saying  ? 

EBOLI. 

And  wherefore  —  wherefore  dies  he  ?    Had  I  known 
That  it  would  come  to  this  ! 

QUEEN  (takes  her  affectionately  by  the  hand). 
Oli,  dearest  princess, 
Your  senses  are  distracted,  but  collect 
Your  wandering  spirits,  and  relate  to  me 
More  calmly,  not  in  images  of  horror 


DON    CARLOS.  283 

That  fright  my  inmost  soul,  whate'or  you  know ! 
Say,  what  has  happened? 

BBOLI. 

Oh,  display  not,  queen, 

Such  heavenly  condescension  !     Like  hot  flames 
This  kindness  sears  my  conscience.     I'm  not  worthy 
To  \  iew  thy  purity  with  eyes  profane. 
Oil,  crush  the  wretch,  who,  agonized  by  shame, 
Remorse,  and  self-reproach  writhes  at  thy  feet! 

QUEEN. 
Unhappy  woman  !     Say,  what  is  thy  guilt? 

EBOLI. 

Angel  of  light !     Sweet  saint !  thou  little  knowest 
The  demon  who  has  won  thy  loving  smiles. 
Know  her  to-day  ;  I  was  the  wretched  thief 
Who  plundered  thee. 

QUEEN. 
What!     Thou? 

EBOLI. 

And  gave  thy  letters 
Up  to  the  king  ? 

QUEEN. 

What !    Thou  ? 

EBOLI. 

And  dared  accuse  thee  ! 
QUEEN. 

Thou !     Couldst  thou  this  ? 

EBOLI. 

Revenge  and  madness  —  love  — 
I  hated  thee,  and  loved  the  prince  ! 

QUEEN. 

And  did 
His  love  so  prompt  thee  ? 


But  met  with  no  return. 


EBOLI. 
I  had  owned  my  love, 


284  DON    CARLOS. 

QUEEN  (after  a  pause). 

Now  all's  explained ! 

Rise  up  !  —  you  loved  him  —  I  have  pardoned  you  ! 
I  have  forgotten  all.     Now,  princess,  rise. 

\Holding  out  her  hand  to  the  PRINCESS. 

EBOLI. 

No,  no ;  a  foul  confession  still  remains. 
I  will  not  rise,  great  queen,  till  I 

QUEEN. 

Then  speak ! 
What  have  I  yet  to  hear  ? 

EBOLI. 

The  king !     Seduction  ! 
Oh,  now  you  turn  away.     And  in  your  eyes 
I  read  abhorrence.     Yes  ;  of  that  foul  crime 
I  charged  you  with,  I  have  myself  been  guilty. 

[She  presses  her  burning  face  to  the  ground.  -Exit 
QUEEN.  A  long  pause.  The  COUNTESS  OLIVA- 
REZ,  after  some  minutes,  comes  out  of  the  cabinet, 
into  which  the  QUEEN  entered,  and  finds  the  PRIX- 
CESS  still  lying  in  the  above  posture-  She  ap- 
proaches in  silence.  On  hearing  a  noise,  the  latter 
looks  up  and  becomes  like  a  mad  person  when  she 
misses  the  QUEEN. 

SCENE  XX. 
PRINCESS  EBOLI,  COUNTESS  OLIVAREZ. 

EBOLI. 
Heavens !  she  has  left  me.     I  am  now  undone  ! 

OLIVAREZ  (approaching  her). 

My  princess  —  Eboli ! 

EBOLI. 

I  know  your  business, 

Duchess,  and  you  come  hither  from  the  queen, 
To  speak  my  sentence  to  me ;  do  it  quickly. 


DON    CARLOS.  285 

OL1VAREZ. 

I  am  commanded  by  your  majesty 
To  take  your  cross  and  key. 

EBOLI  (takes  from  her  breast  a  golden  cross,  and  gives  it 
to  the  DUCHESS). 

And  but  once  more 
May  I  not  kiss  my  gracious  sovereign's  hand 

OLIVAREZ. 

In  holy  Mary's  convent  shall  you  learn 
Your  fate,  princess. 

EBOLI  (with  a  flood  of  tears) . 
Alas  !  then  I  no  more 
Shall  ever  see  the  queen. 

OLIVAEEZ  (embraces  her  with  her  face  turned  away). 

Princess,  farewell. 

[She  goes  hastily  away.  The  PRINCESS  folloics 
her  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  cabinet,  which  is 
immediately  locked  after  the  DUCHESS.  /She 
remains  a  few  minutes  silent  and  motionless  on 
her  knees  before  it.  She  then  rises  and  hastens 
away,  covering  her  face. 

SCENE  XXI. 
QUEEN,  MARQUIS  POSA. 

QUEEN. 
Ah,  marquis,  I  am  glad  you're  come  at  last ! 

MARQUIS  (pale,  with  a  disturbed  countenance  and  trembling 
voice,  in  solemn,  deep  agitation,  during  the  whole  scene). 
And  is  your  majesty  alone  ?    Can  none 
Within  the  adjoining  chamber  overhear  us? 

QUEEN. 

No  one  !     But  why?     What  news  would  you  impart? 

[Looking  at  him  closely,  and  drawing  back  alarmed 
And   what   has  wrought   this   change   in   you  ?     Speak, 

marquis, 


286  DON    CARLOS. 

You  make  me  tremble  —  all  your  features  seem 
So  marked  with  death  ! 

MARQUIS. 
You  know,  perhaps,  already. 

QUEEN. 

That  Carlos  is  arrested  —  and  they  add, 

By  you !     Is  it  then  true  ?     From  no  one  else 

Would  I  believe  it  but  yourself. 

MARQUIS. 

Tis  true. 

QUEEN. 

By  you  ? 

MAEQUIS. 
Byrne? 

QUEEN  (looks  at  him  for  some  time  doubtingly). 

I  still  respect  your  actions 
E'en  when  I  comprehend  them  not.     In  this 
Pardon  a  timid  woman  !     I  much  fear 
You  play  a  dangerous  game. 

MARQUIS. 

And  I  have  lost  it. 

QUEEN. 

Merciful  heaven  1 

MARQUIS. 

Queen,  fear  not !     He  is  safe, 
But  I  am  lost  myself. 

QUEEN.    ' 

What  do  I  hear? 

MARQUIS. 

Who  bade  me  hazard  all  on  one  chance  throw  ? 

All?     And  with  rash,  foolhardy  confidence, 

Sport  with  the  power  of  heaven  ?     Of  bounded  mind, 

Man,  who  is  not  omniscient,  must  not  dare 

To  guide  the  helm  of  destiny.     'Tis  just ! 

But  why  these  thoughts  of  self.     This  hour  is  precious 

As  life  can  be  to  man  :  and  \\\\o  can  tell 


DON    CARLOS.  287 

Whether  the  parsimonious  hand  of  fate 

May  not  have  measured  my  last  drops  of  life  ? 

QUEEN. 

The  hand  of  fate!     What  means  this  solemn  tone? 
I  understand  these  words  not  —  but  I  shudder. 

MARQUIS. 

He's  saved  !  no  matter  at  what  price  —  he's  saved! 
But  only  for  to-day  —  a  few  short  hours 
Are  his.     Oh,  let  him  husband  them  !     This  night 
The  prince  must  leave  Madrid. 

QUEEN. 

This  very  night? 
MARQUIS. 

All  measures  are  prepared.     The  post  will  meet  hirr 
At  the  Carthusian  convent,  which  has  served 
So  long  as  an  asylum  to  our  friendship. 
Here  will  he  find,  in  letters  of  exchange, 
All  in  the  world  that  fortune  gifts  me  with. 
Should  more  be  wanting,  you  must  e'en  supply  it. 
In  truth,  I  have  within  my  heart  full  much 
To  unburden  to  my  Carlos  —  it  may  chance 
I  shall  want  leisure  now  to  tell  him  all 
In  person  — but  this  evening  you  will  see  him, 
And  therefore  I  address  myself  to  you. 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  f  >r  my  peace  of  mind,  dear  marquis,  speak ! 
Explain  yourself  more  clearly!     Do  not  use 
This  dark,  and  fearful,  and  mysterious  language  ! 
Say,  what  has  happened  ? 

MARQUIS. 

I  have  yet  one  thing, 
A  matter  of  importance  on  my  mind  : 
In  your  hands  I  deposit  it.     My  lot 
Was  such  as  few  indeed  have  e'er  enjoyed  — 
I  loved  a  prince's  son.     My  heart  to  one  — 
To  that  one  object  given  — embraced  the  world  ! 
I  have  created  in  my  Carlos'  soul, 
A  paradise  for  millions  !     Oh,  my  dream 


288  DON   CARLOS. 

Was  lovely !     But  the  will  of  Providence 

Has  summoned  me  away,  before  my  hour, 

From  this  my  beauteous  work.     His  Roderigo 

Soon  shall  be  his  no  more,  and  friendship's  claim 

Will  be  transferred  to  love.    Here,  therefore,  here, 

Upon  this  sacred  altar  —  on  the  heart 

Of  his  loved  queen  —  I  lay  rny  last  bequest 

A  precious  legacy  —  he'll  find  it  here, 

When  I  shall  be  no  more. 

[He  turns  away,  his  voice  choked  icith  grief. 

QUEEN. 

This  is  the  language 
Of  a  dying  man  —  it  surely  emanates 
But  from  your  blood's  excitement  —  or  does  sense 
Lie  hidden  in  your  language  ? 

MARQUIS  (has  endeavored  to  collect  himself,  and  continue*, 
in  a  solemn  voice"). 

Tell  the  prince, 

That  he  must  ever  bear  in  mind  the  oath 
We  swore,  in  past  enthusiastic  days, 
Upon  the  sacred  host.     I  have  kept  mine  — 
I'm  true  to  him  till  death  —  'tis  now  his  turn 

QUEEN. 
Till  death? 

MARQUIS. 

Oh,  bid  him  realize  the  dream, 
The  glowing  vision  which  our  friendship  painted, 
Of  a  new —  perfect  realm  !     And  let  him  lay 
The  first  hand  on  the  rude,  unshapened  stone. 
Whether  he  fail  or  prosper  —  ail  alike  — 
Let  him  commence  the  work.     When  centuries 
Have  rolled  away  shall  Providence  again 
Raise  to  the  throne  a  princely  youth  like  him, 
And  animate  again  a  favorite  son 
Whose  breast  shall  burn  with  like  enthusiasm. 
Tell  him,  in  manhood,  he  must  still  revere 
The  dreams  of  early  youth,  nor  ope  the  heart 
Of  heaven's  all-tender  flower  to  canker-worms 
Of  boasted  reason,  —  nor  be  led  astray 


DON    CARLOS.  289 

When,  by  the  wisdom  of  the  dust,  he  hears 
Enthusiasm,  heavenly-born,  blasphemed. 
I  have  already  told  him. 

QUEEN. 

Whither,  marquis  ? 
Whither  does  all  this  tend  ? 

MARQUIS. 

And  tell  him  further, 
I  lay  upon  his  soul  the  happiness 
Of  man  —  that  with  my  dying  breath  I  claim, 
Demand  it  of  him  —  and  with  justest  title. 
I  had  designed  a  new,  a  glorious  morn, 
To  waken  in  these  kingdoms  :  for  to  me 
Philip  had  opened  all  his  inmost  heart  — 
Called  me  his  son  —  bestowed  his  seals  upon  me  — 
And  Alva  was  no  more  his  counsellor. 

[He  pauses,  and  looks  at  the  QUEEN  for  a  few 

moments  in  silence. 

You  weep !     I  know  those  tears,  beloved  soul ! 
Oh,  they  are  tears  of  joy  !  —  but  it  is  past  — 
Forever  past !     Carlos  or  I  ?     The  choice 
Was  prompt  and  fearful.     One  of  us  must  perish ! 
And  I  will  be  that  one.     Oh,  ask  no  more  ! 

QUEEN. 

Now,  now,  at  last,  I  comprehend  your  meaning, 
Unhappy  man  !     What  have  you  done  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Cut  off 

Two  transient  hours  of  evening  to  secure 
A  Ions?,  bright  summer-day  !     I  now  give  up 
The  king  forever.     What  were  I  to  the  king? 
In  such  cold  soil  no  rose  of  mine  could  bloom  ; 
Ir  my  great  friend  must  Europe's  fortune  ripen. 
Spain  I  bequeath  to  him,  still  bathed  in  blood 
From  Philip's  iron  hand.     But  woe  to  him, 
Woe  to  us  both,  if  I  have  chosen  wrong ! 
But  no  —  oh,  no !     I  know  my  Carlos  better  — 


290  DON    CARLOS. 

'Twill  never  come  to  pass  !  —  for  this,  my  queen, 

You  stand  rny  surety.  [After  a  silence, 

Yes  !  I  saw  his  love 

In  its  first  blossom  —  saw  his  fatal  passion 
Take  root  in  his  young  heart.     I  had  full  power 
To  check  it ;  but  I  did  not.     The  attachment 
Which  seemed  to  me  not  guilty,  I  still  nourished. 
The  world  may  censure  me,  but  I  repent  not, 
Nor  does  my  heart  accuse  me.     I  saw  life 
Where  death  appeared  to  others.     In  a  flame 
So  hopeless  I  discerned  hope's  golden  beam. 
I  wished  to  lead  him  to  the  excellent  — 
To  exalt  him  to  the  highest  point  of  beauty. 
Mortality  denied  a  model  to  me, 
And  language,  words.     Then  did  I  bend  his  views 
To  this  point  only  —  and  my  whole  endeavor 
Was  to  explain  to  him  his  love. 

QUEEN. 

Your  friend, 

Marquis !  so  wholly  occupied  your  mind, 
That  for  his  cause  you  quite  forgot  my  own  — 
Could  you  suppose  that  I  had  thrown  aside 
All  woman's  weaknesses,  that  you  could  dare 
Make  me  his  angel,  and  confide  alone 
In  virtue  for  his  armor  ?     You  forget 
What  risks  this  heart  must  run,  when  we  ennoble 
Passion  with  such  a  beauteous  name  as  this. 

MARQUIS. 

Yes,  in  all  other  women  —  but  in  one, 
One  only,  'tis  not  so.     For  you,  I  swear  it. 
And  should  you  blush  to  indulge  the  pure  desire 
To  call  heroic  virtue  into  life  ? 
Can  it  affect  King  Philip,  that  his  works 
Of  noblest  art,  in  the  Escurial,  raise 
Immortal  longings  in  the  painter's  soul 
Who  stands  entranced  before  thte,n  ?     Db  rhe  soutdf 
That  slumber  in  the  lute,  be^ng  nlone 
To  him  who  buys  the  chords  ':*     With  ear  unmoved 
He  may  preserve  hit  treasure  :  —  he  has  bought 
The  wretched  right  to  shiver  it  to  atoms, 


DON    CARLOS.  291 

But  not  the  power  to  wake  its  silver  tones, 

Or,  in  the  magic  of  its  sounds,  dissolve. 

Truth  is  created  for  the  sage,  as  beauty 

Is  for  the  feeling  heart.     They  own  each  other. 

And  this  belief,  no  coward  prejudice 

JSl.all  make  me  e'er  disclaim.     Then  promise,  queen, 

That  you  will  ever  love  him.     That  false  shame, 

Or  fancied  dignity,  shall  never  make  you 

Yield  to  the  voice  of  base  dissimulation  :  — 

That  you  will  love  him  still,  unchanged,  forever. 

Promise  me  this,  oh,  queen!     Here  solemnly 

Say,  do  you  promise  ? 

QUEE'N. 

That  my  heart  alone 
Shall  ever  vindicate  my  love,  I  promise 

MARQUIS  (dratcing  his  hand  back). 
Now  I  die  satisified  —  my  work  is  done. 

\_He  bows  to  the  QUEEX,  and  is  about  to  go 

QUEEN  (follows  him  with  her  eyes  in  silence) . 
You  are  then  going,  marquis,  and  have  not 
Told  me  how  soon  —  and  when  —  we  meet  again  ? 

MARQUIS  (comes  back  once  more,  his  face  turned  away). 
Yes,  we  shall  surely  meet  again  ! 

QUEEN. 

Now,  Posa, 
I  understand  you.     Why  have  you  done  this? 

MARQUIS. 
Carlos  or  I  myself ! 

QUEEN. 

No  !  no !  you  rush 

Headlong  into  a  deed  you  deem  sublime. 
Do  not  deceive  yourself  :    I  know  you  well : 
Long  have  you  thirsted  for  it.     If  your  pride 
But  have  its  fill,  what  matters  it  to  you 
Though   thousand  hearts   should   break.     Oh !   now,   at 

length, 

I  comprehend  your  feelings  —  'tis  thfe  love 
Of  admiration  which  has  won  your  heart 


292  DON    CARLOS. 

MARQUIS  (surprised,  aside). 

No!  I  was  not  prepared  for  this 

QUEEN  (  after  a  pause). 

Oh,  marquis ! 
Is  there  no  hope  of  preservation  ? 

MARQUIS. 

None. 

QUEEN. 

None  ?    Oh,  consider  well !     None  possible ! 
Not  e'en  by  me  ? 

MARQUIS. 

Not  even,  queen,  by  thee. 

QUEEN. 
You  but  half  know  me  —  I  have  courage,  marquis 

MARQUIS. 
I  know  it 

QUEEN. 

And  no  means  of  safety? 

MARQUIS. 

None ! 

QUEEN  (turning  away  and  covering  her  face). 
Go  !     Never  more  shall  I  respect  a  man 

MARQUIS  (casts  himself  on  his  knees  before  her  in  evident 

emotion). 
O  queen  !  O  heaven  !  how  lovely  still  is  life ! 

\_He  starts  up  and  rushes  out.     The  QUEEN  retires 
into  her  cabinet. 

SCENE  XXII. 

DUKE  ALVA  and  DOMINGO  walking  up  and  down  in  silence  and 
separately.  COUNT  LERMA  comes  out  of  the  KING'S  cabinet, 
and  afterwards  DON  RAYMOND  OF  TAXIS,  the  Postmaster- 
Oeneral. 

LERMA. 

Has  not  the  marquis  yet  appeared  ? 


DON    CARLOS.  293 

ALVA. 

Not  yet. 
[LERMA  about  to  re-enter  the  cabinet. 

TAXIS  (enters). 
Count  Lerma !     Pray  announce  me  to  the  king  ? 

LERMA. 
His  majesty  cannot  be  seen. 

TAXIS. 

But  say 

That  I  must  see  him  ;  that  my  business  is 
Of  urgent  import  to  his  majesty. 
Make  haste  —  it  will  admit  of  no  delay. 

[LERMA  enters  the  cabinet. 

ALVA. 

Dear  Taxis,  you  must  learn  a  little  patience  — 
You  cannot  see  the  king. 

TAXIS. 

Not  see  him !     Why  ? 

ALVA. 

You  should  have  been  considerate,  and  procured 
Permission  from  the  Marquis  Posa  first  — 
Who  keeps  both  son  and  father  in  confinement. 

TAXIS. 

The  Marquis  Posa !     Right  —  that  is  the  man 
From  whom  I  bring  this  letter. 

ALVA. 

Ha!    What  letter? 
TAXIS. 

A  letter  to  be  forwarded  to  Brussels. 

ALVA  (attentively). 
To  Brussels  ? 

TAXIS. 

And  I  bring  it  to  the  king. 

ALVA. 
Indeed  !  to  Brussels !     Heard  you  that,  Domingo  ? 


2D4  DON    CAELOS. 

DOMINGO  {joining  them). 
Full  of  suspicion ! 

TAXIS. 

And  with  anxious  mien, 
And  deep  embarrassment  he  gave  it  to  me. 

DOMINGO. 
Embarrassment !     To  whom  is  it  directed  ? 

TAXIS. 
The  Prince  of  Orange  and  Nassau. 

ALVA. 

To  William ! 
There's  treason  here,  Domingo! 

DOMINGO. 

Nothing  less! 

In  truth  this  letter  must,  without  delay, 
Be  laid  before  the  king.     A  noble  service 
You  render,  worthy  man  —  to  be  so  firm 
In  the  discharge  of  duty. 

TAXIS. 

Reverend  sir ! 
'Tis  but  my  duty. 

ALVA. 

But  you  do  it  well. 

LERMA  (coming  out  of  the  cabinet,  addressing  TAXIS). 
The  king  will  see  you.  [TAXIS  (joes  in 

Is  the  marquis  come  ? 

DOMINGO. 
He  has  been  sought  for  everywhere. 

ALVA. 

'Tis  strange ! 

The  prince  is  a  state  prisoner !     And  the  king 
Knows  not  the  reason  why  ! 

DOMINGO. 

He  never  came 
To  explain  the  business  here. 


DON    CARLOS.  295 

ALVA. 

What  says  the  king  ? 
LERMA. 

The  king  spoke  not  a  word.  \_A  noise  in  the  cabinet 

ALVA. 

What  noise  is  that? 

TAXIS  (coming  out  of  the  cabinet). 

Count  Lerma !  [Both  enter. 

ALVA  (to  DOMINGO). 

What  so  deeply  can  engage  them. 

DOMINGO. 

That  look  of  fear  !     This  intercepted  letter ! 
It  augurs  nothing  good. 

ALVA. 

He  sends  for  Lerma ! 

Yet  he  must  know  full  well  that  you  and  I 
Are  both  in  waiting. 

DOMINGO. 

Ah  !  our  day  is  over ! 

ALVA. 

And  am  I  not  the  same  to  whom  these  doors 
Flew  open  once?     But,  ah  !  how  changed  is  all 
Around  me  and  how  strange! 

[DOMINGO  approaches  the  cabinet  door  softly,  and  re- 
mains listening  before  it. 

ALVA  (after  a  pause). 

Hark  !     All  is  still 
And  silent  as  the  grave !     I  hear  them  breathe. 

DOMINGO. 
The  double  tapestry  absorbs  the  sounds ! 

ALVA. 

Away  !  there's  some  one  coming.     All  appears 
So  solemn  and  so  still  —  as  if  this  instant 
Some  deep  momentous  question  were  decided. 


296  DON   CARLOS. 

SCENE  XXIII. 

The  PRINCE  OF  PARMA,  the  DUKES  OF  FERTA  and  MEDINA 
SIDONIA,  with  other  GRANDEES  enter  —  the  preceding. 

PARMA. 
Say,  can  we  see  the  king  ? 

ALVA. 
No! 

PARMA. 

Who  is  with  him  ? 

FERIA. 

The  Marquis  Posa,  doubtless  ? 

ALVA. 

Every  instant 
He  is  expected  here. 

PARMA. 

This  moment  we 

Arrive  from  Saragossa.     Through  Madrid 
Terror  prevails !     Is  the  announcement  true  ? 

DOMINGO. 
Alas,  too  true ! 

FERIA. 

That  he  has  been  arrested. 
By  the  marquis ! 

ALVA. 
Yes. 

PARMA. 

And  wherefore  ?  What's  the  cause  ? 

ALVA. 

Wherefore  ?    That  no  one  knows,  except  the  king 
And  Marquis  Posa. 

PARMA. 

And  without  the  warrant 
Of  the  assembled  Cortes  of  the  Realm  ? 

FERIA. 

That  man  shall  suffer,  who  has  lent  a  hand 
To  infringe  the  nation's  rights. 


DON    CARLOS.  297 

ALVA. 

And  so  say  I ! 

MEDINA    SIDONIA. 

And  I! 

THE    OTHER    GRANDEES. 

And  all  of  us  ! 

ALVA. 

Who'll  follow  me 

Into  the  cabinet  ?    I'll  throw  myself 
Before  the  monarch's  feet. 

LERMA  (rushing  out  of  the  cabinet). 

The  Duke  of  Alva ! 

DOMINGO. 

Then  God  be  praised  at  last ! 

LERMA. 

When  Marquis  Posa 
Conies,  say  the  king's  engaged  and  he'll  be  sent  for. 

DOMINGO  (to  LERMA  ;  all  the  others  having  gathered  round 

him,  full  of  anxious  expectation). 
Count !    What  has  happened  ?    You  are  pale  as  death  ! 

LERMA  (hastening  away). 
Fell  villany ! 

PARMA    and  FERIA. 

What!  what! 

MEDINA    SIDONIA. 

How  is  the  king  ? 
DOMINGO  (at  the  same  time). 
Fell  villany  !    Explain 

LERMA. 

The  king  shed  tears ! 

DOMINGO. 
Shed  tears ! 

ALL  (together  with  astonishment). 

The  king  shed  tears  ! 
[  The  bell  rings  in  the  cabinet,  COUNT  LERMA  hastens  in. 


298  DON   CARLOS. 

DOMINGO. 

Count,  yet  one  word. 
Pardon !     He's  gone !     We're  fettered  in  amazement. 

SCENE  XXIV. 

PRINCESS  EBOLI,  FERIA,  MEDINA  SIDONIA,  PARMA, 
DOMINGO,  and  other  grandees. 

EBOLI  (hurriedly  and  distractedly}. 
Where  is  the  king?   Where ?    I  must  speak  with  him. 

[  To  FERIA. 
Conduct  me  to  him,  duke  ! 

FERIA. 

The  monarch  is 

Engaged  in  urgent  business.     No  one  now 
Can  be  admitted. 

EBOLI. 

Has  lie  signed,  as  yet, 
The  fatal  sentence  ?     He  has  been  deceived. 

DOMINGO  (giving  her  a  significant  look  at  a  distance). 
The  Princess  Eboli ! 

EBOLI  (going  to  him}. 

What !  you  here,  priest  ? 
The  very  man  I  want!     You  can  confirm 
My  testimony ! 

[/She  seizes  his  hand  and  would  drag  him  into  the 
cabinet. 

DOMINGO. 

I  ?    You  rave,  princess  ! 

FERIA. 

Hold  back.     The  king  cannot  attend  you  now. 

EBOLI. 

But  he  must  hear  me;  lie  must  hear  the  truth  — 
The  truth,  were  he  ten  times  a  deity. 

DOMIXGO. 
Away  !     You  hazard  everything.     Stand  back. 


DON   CARLOS.  299 

EBOLT. 

Man,  tremble  at  the  anger  of  thy  idol. 

I  have  naught  left  to  hazard. 

[Attempts  to  enter  the  cabinet;  ALVA  rushes  out, 
his  eyes  sparkling,  triumph  in  his  gait.  He 
hastens  to  DOMINGO,  and  embraces  him. 

ALVA. 

Let  each  church 

Resound  with  high  Te  Deums.     Victory 
At  length  is  ours. 

DOMINGO. 

What !     Ours  ? 

ALVA  (to  DOMINGO  and  the  other  GRANDEES). 

Now  to  the  king. 
You  shall  hereafter  hear  the  sequel  from  me. 

ACT   V. 

SCENE  I. 

A  chamber  in  tlie  royal  palace,  separated  from  a  large  fore-court 
by  an  iron-barred  gate.  Sentinels  walking  up  and  down.  CAR- 
LOS  sitting  at  a  table,  with  his  head  leaning  fonoard  on  his  arms, 
as  if  he  were  asleep.  In  the  background  of  the  chamber  are 
some  officers,  confined  with  him.  The  MARQUIS  POSA  enters, 
unobserved  by  him,  and  whispers  to  the  officers,  who  immediately 
withdraw.  He  himself  steps  close  up  to  CARLOS,  and  looks  at 
him  for  a  few  minutes  in  silent  sorrow.  At  last  he  makes  a 
motion  which  awakens  him  out  of  his  stupor.  CARLOS  rises, 
and  seeing  the  MARQUIS,  starts  back.  He  regards  him  for  some 
time  with  fixed  eyes,  and  draws  his  hand  over  his  forehead  as  if 
he  wished  to  recollect  something. 

MARQUIS. 

Carlos !  'tis  I. 

CARLOS  (gives  him  his  hand). 
Comest  thou  to  me  again  ? 
'Tis  friendly  of  thee,  truly. 

MARQUIS. 

Here  I  thought 
Thou  mightest  need  a  friend. 


300  DON    CARLOS. 


CARLOS. 

Indeed !  was  that 

Thy  real  thought?     Oh,  joy  unspeakable  ! 
Right  well  I  knew  thou  still  wert  true  to  me. 

MARQUIS. 
I  have  deserved  this  from  thee. 

CARLOS. 

Hast  thou  not  ? 

And  now  we  understand  each  other  fully, 
It  joys  my  heart.     This  kindness,  this  forbearance 
Becomes  our  noble  souls.     For  should  there  be 
One  rash,  unjust  demand  amongst  my  wishes, 
Wouldst  thou,  for  that,  refuse  me  what  was  just? 
Virtue  I  know  may  often  be  severe, 
But  never  is  she  cruel  and  inhuman. 
Oh !  it  hath  cost  thee  much  ;  full  well  I  know 
How  thy  kind  heart  with  bitter  anguish  bled 
As  thy  hands  decked  the  victim  for  the  altar. 

MARQUIS. 
What  meanest  thou,  Carlos  ? 

CARLOS. 

Thou,  thyself,  wilt  now 
Fulfil  the  joyous  course  I  should  have  run. 
Thou  wilt  bestow  on  Spain  those  golden  days 
She  might  have  hoped  in  vain  to  win  from  me. 
I'm  lost,  forever  lost ;  thou  saw'st  it  clearly. 
This  fatal  love  has  scattered,  and  forever, 
All  the  bright,  early  blossoms  of  my  mind. 
To  all  the  great,  exalted  hopes  I'm  dead. 
Chance  led  thee  to  the  king  —  or  Providence,  — 
It  cost  thee  but  my  secret  —  and  at  once 
He  was  thine  own  — thou  may'st  become  his  angel: 
But  I  am  lost,  though  Spain  perhaps  may  flourish. 
Well,  there  is  nothing  to  condemn,  if  not 
My  own  mad  blindness.     Oh,  I  should  have  known 
That  thou  art  no  less  great  than  tender-hearted. 

MARQUIS. 

No !   I  foresaw  not,  I  considered  not 
That  friendship's  generous  heart  would  lead  thee  on 


DON    CARLOS.  301 

Beyond  ray  worldly  prudence.     I  have  erred, 
My  fabric's  shattered  —  I  forgot  thy  heart. 

CAKLOS. 

Yet,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  spare 
Her  fate  —  oh,  how  intensely  I  had  thanked  thee ! 
Could  I  not  bear  the  burden  by  myself  ? 
And  why  must  she  be  made  a  second  victim  ? 
But  now  no  more,  I'll  spare  thee  this  reproach. 
What  is  the  queen  to  thee  ?     Say,  dost  thou  love  her? 
Could  thy  exalted  virtue  e'er  consult 
The  petty  interests  of  my  wretched  passion  ? 
Oh,  pardon  me !     I  was  unjust 

MARQUIS. 

Thou  art  so ! 

But  not  for  this  reproach.     Deserved  I  one, 
I  merit  all  —  and  then  I  should  not  stand 
Before  you  as  I  do.  \_Jfe  takes  out  his  portfolio. 

I  have  some  letters 
To  give  you  back  of  those  you  trusted  to  me. 

CARLOS  (looks  first  at  the  letters,  then  at  the  MARQUIS,  in 

astonishment). 
How! 

MARQUIS. 

I  return  them  now  because  they  may 
Prove  safer  in  thy  custody  than  mine. 

CARLOS. 

What  meanest  thou  ?     Has  his  majesty  not  read  them  ? 
Have  they  not  been  before  him  ? 

MARQUIS. 

What,  these  letters ! 

CARLOS. 

Thou  didst  not  show  them  all,  then. 

MARQUIS. 

Who  has  said 
That  ever  I  showed  one  ? 

CARLOS  (astonished). 

Can  it  be  so  ? 
Count  Lerma 


302  DON   CARLOS. 

MARQUIS. 

He !  he  told  thee  so !     Now  all 
Is  clear  as  day.     But  who  could  have  foreseen  it  ? 
Lerma!    Oh,  no,  he  hath  not  learned  to  lie. 
"Pis  true,  the  king  has  all  the  other  letters. 

CARLOS  (looks  at  him  long  with  speechless  astonishment). 
But  wherefore  am  I  here  ? 

MARQUIS. 

For  caution's  sake, 

Lest  thou  should  chance,  a  second  time,  to  make 
An  Eboli  thy  confidant. 

CARLOS  (as  if  waking  from  a  dream). 

Ha !   Now 
I  see  it  all  —  all  is  explained. 

MARQUIS  (goes  to  the  door). 

Who's  there? 

SCENE  II. 
DUKE  ALVA.     The  former. 

ALVA  (approaching  the  PRIXCE  with  respect,  but  turning 

his  back  on  the  MARQUIS  during  the  whole  scene. 
Prince,  you  are  free.     Deputed  by  the  king 
I  come  to  tell  you  so. 

[CARLOS  looks  at  the  MARQUIS  with  astonishment. 
General  silence. 

And  I,  in  truth, 
Am  fortunate  to  have  this  honor  first 

CARLOS  (looking  at  both  with  extreme  amazement,  after  a 

pause,  to  the  DUKE). 

I  am  imprisoned,  duke,  and  set  at  freedom, 
Unconscious  of  the  cause  of  one  or  other. 

ALVA. 

As  far  as  I  know,  prince,  'twas  through  an  error, 
To  which  the  king  was  driven  by  a  traitor. 

CARLOS. 
Then  am  I  here  by  order  of  the  king  ? 


DON   CARLOS.  303 

ALVA. 

Yes,  through  an  error  of  his  majesty. 
CARLOS. 

That  gives  me  pain,  indeed.     But  when  the  king 
Commits  an  error,  'twould  beseem  the  king, 
Methinks,  to  remedy  the  fault  in  person. 
I  am  Don  Philip's  son  —  and  curious  eyes 
And  slanderous  looks  are  on  me.     What  the  king 
Hath  done  from  sense  of  duty  ne'er  will  I 
Appear  to  owe  to  your  considerate  favor. 
I  am  prepared  to  appear  before  the  Cortes, 
And  will  not  take  my  sword  from  such  a  hand. 

ALVA. 

The  king  will  never  hesitate  to  grant 
Your  highness  a  request  so  just.     Permit 
That  I  conduct  you  to  him. 

CARLOS. 

Here  I  stay 

Until  the  king  or  all  Madrid  shall  come 
To  lead  me  from  my  prison.     Take  my  answer. 

[ALVA  withdraws.   lie  is  still  seen  for  some  time  linger- 
ing in  the  court  and  giving  orders  to  the  guards. 

SCENE  III. 
CARLOS  and  MARQUIS  POSA. 

CARLOS  (after  the  departure  of  the  DUKE,  full  of  expecta- 
tion and  astonishment,  to  the  MARQUIS). 
What  means  all  this?     Inform  me,  Roderigo  — 
Art  thou  not,  then,  the  minister? 

MARQUIS. 

I  was, 

As  thou  canst  well  perceive 

[  Going  to  him  with  great  emotion, 

O  Carlos !  Now 

I  have  succeeded  —  yes  —  it  is  accomplished  — 
'Tis  over  now  —  Omnipotence  be  praised, 
To  whom  I  owe  success. 


304  DON   CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

Success  !  What  mean  you  ? 
Thy  words  perplex  me. 

MARQUIS  (takes  his  hand). 

Carlos  !  thou  art  saved  — 

Art  free  —  but  I [He  stops  short. 

CARLOS. 
But  thou 

MARQUIS. 

Thus  to  my  breast 

I  press  thee  now,  with  friendship's  fullest  right, 
A  right  I've  bought  with  all  I  hold  most  dear. 
How  great,  how  lovely,  Carlos,  is  this  moment 
Of  self-approving  joy  ? 

CARLOS. 

What  sudden  change 
I  mark  upon  thy  features  !     Proudly  now 
Thy  bosom  heaves,  thine  eyes  dart  vivid  fire ! 

MARQUIS. 

We  must  say  farewell,  Carlos  !     Tremble  not, 
But  be  a  man  !     And  what  thou  more  shalt  hear, 
Promise  me,  not  by  unavailing  sorrow, 
Unworthy  of  great  souls,  to  aggravate 
The  pangs  of  parting.     I  am  lost  to  thee, 
Carlos,  for  many  years  —  fools  say  forever. 

[CARLOS  withdraws  his  hand,  but  makes  no  reply 
Be  thou  a  man  :  I've  reckoned  much  on  thee  — 
I  have  not  even  shunned  to  pass  with  thee 
This  awful  hour — which  men,  in  words  of  fear, 
Have  termed  the  final  one.     I  own  it,  Carlos, 
I  joy  to  pass  it  thus.     Come  let  us  sit  — 
I  feel  myself  grown  weary  and  exhausted. 

[He  approaches  CARLOS,  who  is  in  a  lifeless  stupor, 

and  allows  himself  to  be  involuntarily  drawn  down 

by  him. 

Where  art  thou  ?     No  reply  !     I  must  be  brief. 
Upon  the  day  that  followed  our  last  meeting 
At  the  Carthusian  monastery  the  king 
Called  me  before  him.     What  ensued  thou  knowest, 


DON    CARLOS.  305 

And  all  Madrid.     Thou  hast  not  heard,  however, 
Thy  secret  even  then  had  reached  his  ears  — 
That  letters  in  the  queen's  possession  found 
Had  testified  against  thee.     This  I  learned 
From  his  own  lips  —  I  was  his  confidant. 

[He  pauses  for  CARLOS'  answer,  but  he  still  remains 

silent. 

Yes,  Carlos,  with  rny  lips  I  broke  my  faith  — 
Guided  the  plot  myself  that  worked  thy  ruin. 
Thy  deed  spoke  trumpet-tongued  ;  to  clear  thee  fully 
'Twas  now  too  late :  to  frustrate  his  revenge 
Was  all  that  now  remained  for  me ;  and  so 
I  made  myself  thy  enemy  to  —  serve  thee 
With  fuller  power  —  dost  thou  not  hear  me,  Carlos, 

CARLOS 
Go  on !  go  on  !     I  hear  thee. 

MARQUIS. 

To  this  point 

I'm  guiltless.     But  the  unaccustomed  beams 
Of  royal  favor  dazzled  me.     The  rumor, 
As  I  had  well  foreseen,  soon  reached  thine  ears 
But  by  mistaken  delicacy  led, 
And  blinded  by  my  vain  desire  to  end 
My  enterprise  alone,  I  kept  concealed 
From  friendship's  ear  my  hazardous  design. 
This  was  my  fatal  error  !     Here  I  failed ! 
I  know  it.     My  self-confidence  was  madness. 
Pardon  that  confidence  —  'twas  founded,  Carlos, 
Upon  our  friendship's  everlasting  base. 

[He  pauses.     CARLOS  passes  from  torpid  silence  to 

violent  agitation. 

That  which  I  feared  befel.     Unreal  dangers 
Alarmed  your  mind.     The  bleeding  queen  —  the  tumult 
Within  the  palace  —  Lerma's  interference  — 
And,  last  of  all,  my  own  mysterious  silence, 
Conspired  to  overwhelm  thy  heart  with  wonder. 
Thou  wavered'st,  though t'st  me  lost ;  but  far  too  noble 
To  doubt  thy  friend's  integrity,  thy  soul 
Clothed  his  defection  with  a  robe  of  honor, 


306  DON    CARLOS. 

Nor  judged  him  faithless  till  it  found  a  motive 

To  screen  and  justify  his  breach  of  faith. 

Forsaken  by  thy  only  friend  —  twas  then 

Thou  sought'st  the  arras  of  Princess  Eboli  — 

A  demon's  arms  !     'Twas  she  betrayed  thee,  Carlos ! 

I  saw  thee  fly  to  her  —  a  dire  foreboding 

Struck  on  my  heart  —  I  followed  thee  too  late ! 

Already  wert  thou  prostrate  at  her  feet, 

The  dread  avowal  had  escaped  thy  lips  — 

No  way  was  left  to  save  thee. 

CARLOS. 

No !  her  heart 
Was  moved,  thou  dost  mistake,  her  heart  was  moved, 

MARQUIS. 

Night  overspread  my  mind.     No  remedy, 

No  refuge,  no  retreat  was  left  to  me 

In  nature's  boundless  compass.     Blind  despair 

Transformed  me  to  a  fury  —  to  a  tiger  — 

I  raised  my  dagger  to  a  woman's  breast. 

But  in  that  moment  —  in  that  dreadful  moment  — 

A  radiant  sunbeam  fell  upon  my  soul. 

"  Could  I  mislead  the  king !     Could  I  succeed 

In  making  him  think  me  the  criminal ! 

However  improbable,  the  very  guilt 

Will  be  enough  to  win  the  king's  belief. 

I'll  dare  the  task  —  a  sudden  thunderbolt 

May  make  the  tyrant  start —  what  want  I  further? 

He  stops  to  think,  and  Carlos  thus  gains  time 

To  fly  to  Brussels." 

CARLOS. 

And  hast  thou  done  this  ? 

MARQUIS. 

I  have  despatched  a  letter  to  Prince  William, 
Saying  I  loved  the  queen,  and  had  escaped 
The  king's  mistrust  in  the  unjust  suspicion 
Which  falsely  fell  on  thee  —  that  I  had  found 
Means,  through  the  monarch's  favor,  to  obtain 
Free  access  to  the  queen.     I  added,  further, 


DON    CARLOS.  307 

That  I  was  fearful  of  discovery  — 

That  thou  hadst  learned  my  secret,  and  hadst  sped 

To  Princess  Eboli,  with  hopes  through  her 

To  warn  the  queen  —  that  I  had  made  thee  prisoner  — 

And  now  that  all  seemed  lost,  I  had  resolved 

To  fly  to  Brussels.     This  same  letter  1 

CARLOS  (interrupts  him,  terrified). 

Hast  surely  not  intrusted  to  the  post! 

Thou  knowest  that  letters  to  Brabant  and  Flanders 

MARQUIS. 

Are  given  to  the  king  ;  and  as  things  go 
Taxis  would  seem  to  have  discharged  his  duty. 

CARLOS. 
Heavens !  then  I'm  lost. 

MARQUIS. 

How  lost  ?    What  meanest  thou  ? 
CARLOS. 

And  thou,  alas  !  art  lost  together  with  me  — 
This  dreadful  fraud  my  father  ne'er  will  pardon. 

MARQUIS. 
This  fraud  !    Thou'rt  mad  !   Who  will  disclose  it  to  him  ? 

CARLOS  (regards  him  with  a  fixed  look). 
Who  !     Dost  thou  ask  ?    I  will  myself. 

MABQUIS. 

Thou  ravest  1 

Stand  back 

CARLOS. 

Away  !     For  heaven's  sake  hold  me  not. 
While  I  stay  here,  he's  hiring  the  assassins. 

MARQUIS. 

Then  is  our  time  more  precious  —  and  we  still 
Have  much  to  say. 


308  DON   CARLOS. 

CARLOS. 

What  !     Before  all  is  finished  ? 
[He  makes  another  effort  to  go.     The  MAKQUIS  hold* 
him  by  the  arm,  and  looks  at  Mm  impressively. 

MARQUIS. 

Carlos  !  was  I  so  scrupulous  —  so  eager  — 
When  thou,  a  boy,  didst  shed  thy  blood  for  me? 

CARLOS  (with  emotion,  and  full  of  admiration). 

Kind  Providence! 

MARQUIS. 

Reserve  thyself  for  Flanders ! 
The  kingdom  is  thy  destiny  —  'tis  mine 
To  give  my  life  for  thee. 

CARLOS  (takes  his  hand  with  deep  sensibility). 

No,  no!  he  will  not, 
Cannot  resist  a  virtue  so  sublime. 
I  will  conduct  thee  to  him,  and  together, 
Ann  linked  in  arm,  will  we  appear  before  him. 
Then  thus  will  I  address  him :   "  Father,  see, 
This  is  the  way  a  friend  acts  towards  his  friend." 
Trust  me,  'twill  move  him  —  it  will  touch  his  heart. 
He's  not  without  humanity, — my  father. 
Yes,  it  will  move  him.     With  hot  tears,  his  eyes 
Will  overflow  —  and  he  will  pardon  us. 

\_A  shot  is  fired  through  the  iron  grating.   CARLOS 
leaps  up. 

CARLOS. 
Whom  was  that  meant  for  ? 

MARQUIS  (sinking  down). 

I  believe  —  for  me. 

CA.RLOS  (falling  to  the  earth  with  a  loud  cry  of  grief). 

0  God  of  mercy ! 

MARQUIS. 

He  is  quick  —  the  king. 

1  had  hoped  —  a  little  longer  —  Carlos  —  think 


DON    CARLOS.  309 

Of  means  of  flight  —  dost  hear  me  ?  —  of  thy  flight. 

Thy  mother  —  knows  it  all  —  I  can  no  more.  [Dies. 

[CARLOS  remains  by  the  corpse,  like  one  bereft  of 
life.  After  some  time  the  KING  enters,  accom- 
panied by  many  GRANDEES  ;  and  starts,  panic- 
struck,  at  the  sight.  A.  general  and  deep  silence. 
The  GRANDEES  range  themelves  in  a  semi-circle 
round  them  both,  and  regard  the  KING  and  his 
SON  alternately.  Tlie  latter  continues  without 
any  sign  of  life.  The  KING  regards  him  in 
thoughtful  silence. 

SCENE  IV. 

The  KING,  CARLOS,  the  DUKES  ALVA,  FERIA,  and 
MEDINA  SIDONIA,  PRINCE  OF  PARMA,  COUNT  LERMA, 
DOMINGO,  and  numerous  GRANDEES. 

KING  (in  a  gentle  tone). 

Thy  prayer  hath  met  a  gracious  hearing,  prince, 

And  here  I  come,  with  all  the  noble  peers 

Of  this  rny  court,  to  bring  thee  liberty. 

[CARLOS  raises  his  eyes  and  looks  around  him  like 
one  awakened  from  a  dream.  His  eyes  are  fixed 
now  on  the  KING,  now  on  the  corpse  ;  he  gives  no 
answer. 

Receive  thy  sword  again.     We've  been  too  rash ! 

\_He  approaches  him,  holds  out  his  hand,  and  as- 
sists him  to  rise. 

My  son's  not  in  his  place;  Carlos,  arise! 

Come  to  thy  father's  arms !     His  love  awaits  thee. 

CARLOS  (receives  the  embrace  of  the  KING  without  any 
consciousness.  Suddenly  recollects  himself,  pauses 
and  looks  fixedly  at  him). 

Thou  smell'st  of  blood  —  no,  T  cannot  embrace  thee ! 

[Pushes  his  father  back.     All  the  GRANDEES  are 

in  commotion.     CARLOS  to  them  :  — 
Nay,  stand  not  there  confounded  and  amazed ! 
What  monstrous  action  have  T  done?    Defiled 
The  anointed  of  the  Lord  !     Oh,  fear  me  not, 


310  DON    CAKLOS. 

I  would  not  lay  a  hand  on  him.     Behold, 
Stamped  on  his  forehead  is  the  damning  brand ! 
The  hand  of  God  hath  marked  him  ! 

KING  (about  to  go  quickly). 

Nobles !   follow. 
CARLOS. 

Whither  ?    You  stir  not  from  this  spot. 

[Detaining  the  KING  forcibly  with  both  hands,  while 
with  one  he  manages  to  seize  the  sword  which  the 
KING  has  brought  with  him,  and  it  comes  from  the 
scabbard. 

KING. 

What!   Draw 
A  sword  upon  thy  father? 

ALL  THE  GRANDEES  (drawing  their  swords). 
Regicide ! 

CARLOS    (holding   the   KING  firmly   with   one  hand,   the 
naked  sword  in  the  other). 

Put  up  your  swords !     What !     Think  you  I  am  mad  ? 

I  am  not  so  :  or  you  were  much  to  blame 

Thus  to  remind  me,  that  upon  the  point 

Of  this  my  sword,  his  trembling  life  doth  hover. 

I  pray  you,  stand  aloof ;  for  souls  like  mine 

Need  soothing.    There  —  hold  back  !     And  with  the  king 

What  I  have  yet  to  settle  touches  not 

Your  loyalty.     See  there  —  his  hand  is  bloody ! 

Do  you  not  see  it  ?    And  now  look  you  here ! 

[Pointing  to  the  corpse 
This  h.ath  he  done  with  a  well-practised  hand. 

KING  (to  the  GRANDEES,  who  press  anxiously  around  him). 
Retire !     Why  do  you  tremble  ?     Are  we  not 
Father  and  son  ?     1  will  yet  wait  and  see 
To  what  atrocious  crime  his  nature 

CARLOS. 

Naturt 

I  know  her  not.     Murder  is  now  the  word! 
The  bonds  of  all  humanity  are  severed, 


DON    CARLOS.  311 

Thine  own  hands  have  dissolved  them  through  the  realm. 

Shall  I  respect  a  tie  which  thou  hast  scorned  ? 

Oh,  see  !    see  here  !    the  foulest  deed  of  blood 

That  e'er  the  world  beheld.     Is  there  no  God 

That  kings,  in  his  creation,  work  such  havoc? 

Is  there  no  God,  J  ask  ?     Since  mother's  wombs 

Bore  children,  one  alone  —  and  only  one  — 

So  guiltlessly  hath  died.     And  art  thou  sensible 

\V  hat  thou  hast  done  ?     Oh,  no  !  he  knows  it  not : 

Knows  not  that  he  has  robbed  —  despoiled  the  world 

Of  a  more  noble,  precious,  dearer  life 

Than  he  and  all  his  century  can  boast. 

KrvG  (with  a  tone  of  softness). 
If  I  have  been  too  hasty,  Carlos  —  thou 
For  whom  I  have  thus  acted,  should  at  least 
Not  call  me  to  account. 

CARLOS. 

Is't  possible ! 

Did  you  then  never  guess  how  dear  to  me 
Was  he  who  here  lies  dead  ?     Thou  lifeless  corpse ! 
Instruct  him  — aid  his  wisdom,  to  resolve 
This  dark  enigma  now.     He  was  my  friend. 
And  would  you  know  why  he  has  perished  thus? 
He  gave  his  life  for  me. 

KING. 

Ha  ?  my  suspicions ! 

CARLOS. 

Pardon,  thou  bleeding  corpse,  that  I  profane 
Thy  virtue  to  such  ears.     But  let  him  blush 
With  deep-felt  shame,  the  crafty  politician, 
That  his  gray-headed  wisdom  was  o'erreached, 
E'en  by  the  judgment  of  a  youth.     Yes,  sire, 
We  two  were  brothers  !     Bound  by  nobler  bands 
Than  nature  ties.     His  whole  life's  bright  career 
Was  love.     His  noble  death  was  love  for  me. 
E'en  in  the  moment  when  his  brief  esteem 
Exalted  you,  he  was  my  own.     And  wheii 
With  fascinating  tongue  he  sported  with 
Your  haughty,  giant  mind,  'twas  your  conceit 


312  DON   CARLOS. 

To  bridle  him ;  but  you  became  yourself 

The  pliant  tool  of  his  exalted  plans. 

That  I  became  a  prisoner,  my  arrest, 

Was  his  deep  friendship's  meditated  work. 

That  letter  to  Prince  William  was  designed 

To  save  my  life.     It  was  the  first  deceit 

He  ever  practised.     To  insure  my  safety 

He  rushed  on  death  himself,  and  nobly  perished. 

You  lavished  on  him  all  your  favor ;  yet 

For  me  he  died.     Your  heart,  your  confidence, 

You  forced  upon  him.     As  a  toy  he  held 

Your  sceptre  and  your  power ;  he  cast  them  from  him, 

And  gave  his  life  for  me. 

[  The  KING  stands  motionless,  with  eyes  fixed  on 

the  ground;  all  the  GRANDEES  regard  him  with 

surprise  and  alarm., 

How  could  it  be 

That  you  gave  credit  to  this  strange  deceit? 
Meanly  indeed  he  valued  you,  to  try 
By  such  coarse  artifice  to  win  his  ends. 
You  dared  to  court  his  friendship,  but  gave  way 
Before  a  test  so  simple.     Oh,  no !  never 
For  souls  like  yours  was  such  a  being  formed. 
That  well  he  knew  himself,  when  he  rejected 
Your  crowns,  your  gifts  your  greatness,  and  yourself. 
This  fine-toned  lyre  broke  in  your  iron  hand, 
And  you  could  do  no  more  than  murder  him. 

ALVA  (never  having  taken  his  eyes  from  the  KING,  and 
observing  his  emotion  with  uneasiness,  approaches 
him  with  apprehension). 

Keep  not  this  deathlike  silence,  sire.     Look  round, 
And  speak  at  least  to  us. 

CARLOS. 

Once  you  were  not 
Indifferent  to  him.     And  deeply  once 
You  occupied  his  thoughts.     It  might  have  been 
His  lot  to  make  you  happy.     His  full  heart 
Might  have  enriched  you  ;  with  its  mere  abundance 
An  atom  of  his  soul  had  been  enough 


DON  CARLOS.  313 

To  make  a  god  of  you.  You've  robbed  yourself  — 
Plundered  yourself  and  me.  What  could  you  give, 
To  raise  again  a  spirit  like  to  this  ? 

\_Deep  silence.      Many   of   the    GRANDEES    turn 
away,  or  conceal  their  faces  in  their  mantles. 
Oh,  ye  who  stand  around  with  terror  dumb, 
And  mute  surprise,  do  not  condemn  the  youth 
Who  holds  this  language  to  the  king,  his  father. 
Look  on  this  corpse.     Behold  !   for  me  he  died. 
If  ye  have  tears  —  if  in  your  veins  flow  blood, 
Not  molten  brass,  look  here,  and  blame  me  not. 

\_IIe  turns  to  the  KING   with  more  self-possession 

and  calmness. 

Doubtless  you  wait  the  end  of  this  rude  scene? 
Here  is  my  sword,  for  you  are  still  my  king. 
Think  not  I  fear  your  vengeance.     Murder  me, 
As  you  have  murdered  this  most  noble  man. 
My  life  is  forfeit;  that  I  know  full  well. 
But  what  is  life  to  me  ?     I  here  renounce 
All  that  this  world  can  offer  to  my  hopes. 
Seek  among  strangers  for  a  son.     Here  lies 
My  kingdom. 

[He  sinks  down  on  the  corpse,  and  takes  no  part  in 
what  follows.  A  confused  tumult  and  the  noise 
of  a  croicd  is  heard  'in  the  distance.  All  is  deep 
silence  round  the  KING.  His  eyes  scan  the 
circle  over,  but  no  one  returns  his  looks. 


What !     Will  no  one  make  reply? 
Each  eye  upon  the  ground,  each  look  abashed ! 
My  sentence  is  pronounced.      I  read  it  here 
Proclaimed  in  all  this  lifeless,  mute  demeanor. 
My  vassals  have  condemned  me. 

[Silence  as  he/ore.  The  tumult  grows  louder.  A 
murmur  is  heard  among  the  GRANDEES.  They 
exchange  embarrassed  looks.  COUNT  LERMA  at 
length  gently  touches  ALVA. 

LERMA. 

Here's  rebellion  ! 


314  DON    CARLOS. 

ALVA  (in  a  low  voice). 
I  fear  it. 

LERMA. 

It  approaches  !     They  are  coming ! 

SCENE  V. 
An  officer  of  the  JBody  Guard.     The  former. 

OFFICER  (urgently}. 

Rebellion  !     Where's  the  king  ? 

\_He  makes  his  way  through  the  crowd  up  to  the  KING. 

Madrid's  in  arms ! 

To  thousands  swelled,  the  soldiery  and  people 
Surround  the  palace  ;  and  reports  are  spread 
That  Carlos  is  a  prisoner  —  that  his  life 
Is  threatened.     And  the  mob  demand  to  see 
Him  living,  or  Madrid  will  be  in  flames. 

THE  GRANDEES  (icitfi  excitement). 
Defend  the  king ! 

ALVA  (to  the  KING,  who  remains  quiet  and  unmoved). 

Fly,  sire !  your  life's  in  danger. 
As  yet  we  know  not  who  has  armed  the  people. 

KING   (rousing  from    his    stupor,  and  advancing  with 
dignity  among  them). 

Stands  my  throne  firm,  and  am  I  sovereign  yet 
Over  this  empire  ?     No  !     I'm  king  no  more. 
These  cowards  weep  —  moved  by  a  puny  boy. 
They  only  wait  the  signal  to  desert  me. 
I  am  betrayed  by  rebels ! 

ALVA. 

Dreadful  thought ! 

KING. 

There !  fling  yourselves  before  him  —  down  before 
The  young,  the  expectant  king;  I'm  nothing  now 
But  a  forsaken,  old,  defenceless  man  ! 


DON   CARLOS.  315 

ALVA. 

Spaniards !  is't  come  to  this  ? 

[All  crowd  round  the  KING,  and  fatt  on  their  knees 
before  him  with  drawn  swords.  CAKLOS  remains 
alone  with  the  corpse,  deserted  by  all. 

KING  (tearing  off  his  mantle  and  throwing  it  from  him). 

There !  clothe  him  now 
With  this  my  royal  mantle ;  and  on  liigli 
Bear  him  in  triumph  o'er  my  trampled  corpse! 

[Befalls  senseless  in  ALVA'S  and  LERMA'S  arms. 

LERMA. 

For  heaven's  sake,  help ! 

FERIA. 

Oh,  sad,  disastrous  chance ! 

LERMA. 

He  faints ! 
ALVA  (leaves  the  KING  in  LERMA'S  and  FERIA'S  hands). 

Attend  his  majesty !  whilst  I 
Make  it  my  aim  to  tranquillize  Madrid. 

[Exit  ALVA.  The  KING  is  borne  off]  attended  by  all 
the  grandees. 

SCENE  VI. 

CARLOS  remains  behind  with  the  corpse.  After  a  few  moments 
Louis  MERCADO  appears,  looks  cautiously  round  him.  and 
stands  a  long  time  silent  behind  the  PRINCE,  who  does  not 
observe  him. 

MERCADO. 

I  come,  prince,  from  her  majesty  the  queen. 

[CARLOS  turns  away  and  makes  no  reply. 

My  name,  Mercado,  I'm  the  queen's  physician  : 
See  my  credentials. 

[Shows  the  PRINCE  a  signet  ring.  CARLOS  remains 
still  silent. 

And  the  queen  desires 
To  speak  with  you  to-day  —  on  weighty  business. 

CARLOS. 
Nothing  is  weighty  in  this  world  .to  me. 


316  DON   CARLOS. 

MERC  ADO. 

A  charge  the  Marquis  Posa  left  with  her. 
CARLOS  (looking  up  quickly). 
Indeed  !  I  come  this  instant. 

MERC  ADO. 

No,  not  yet, 

Most  gracious  prince !  you  must  delay  till  night. 
Each  avenue  is  watched,  the  guards  are  doubled, 
You  ne'er  could  reach  the  palace  unperceived ; 
You  would  endanger  everything. 

CARLOS. 

And  yet 

MERCADO. 

I  know  one  means  alone  that  can  avail  us. 

'Tis  the  queen's  thought,  and  she  suggests  it  to  you ; 

But  it  is  bold,  adventurous,  and  strange  ! 

CARLOS. 

What  is  it  ? 

MERCADO. 

A  report  has  long  prevailed 
That  in  the  secret  vaults,  beneath  the  palace, 
At  midnight,  shrouded  in  a  monk's  attire, 
The  emperor's  departed  spirit  walks. 
The  people  still  give  credit  to  the  tale, 
And  the  guards  watch  the  post  with  inward  terror. 
Now,  if  you  but  determine  to  assume 
This  dress,  you  may  pass  freely  through  the  guards, 
Until  you  reach  the  chamber  of  the  queen, 
Which  this  small  key  will  open.     Your  attire 
Will  save  you  from  attack.     But  on  the  spot, 
Prince  !  your  decision  must  be  made  at  once. 
The  requisite  apparel  and  the  mask 
Are  ready  in  your  chamber.     I  must  haste 
And  take  the  queen  your  answer. 

CARLOS. 

And  the  hour  ? 

MERCADO. 

It  is  midnight. 


DON    CARLOS.  317 

CARLOS. 
Then  inform  her  I  will  come. 

\_Exit  MERCADO. 
SCENE  VII. 

CARLOS  awe?  COUNT  LERMA. 

LERMA. 

Save  yourself,  prince  !    The  king's  enraged  against  you. 
Your  liberty,  if  not  your  life's  in  danger  ! 
Ask  me  no  further  —  I  have  stolen  away 
To  give  you  warning  —  fly  this  very  instant 

CARLOS. 
Heaven  will  protect  me  ! 

LERMA. 

As  the  queen  observed 

To  me,  this  moment,  you  must  leave  Madrid 
This  very  day,  and  fly  to  Brussels,  prince. 
Postpone  it  not,  I  pray  you.     The  commotion 
Favors  your  flight.     The  queen,  with  this  design, 
Has  raised  it.     No  one  will  presume  so  far 
As  to  lay  hand  on  you.     Swift  steeds  await  you 
At  the  Carthusian  convent,  and  behold, 
Here  are  your  weapons,  should  you  be  attacked. 

[LERMA  gives  him  a  dagger  and  pistols. 

CARLOS. 
Thanks,  thanks,  Count  Lerma ! 

LERMA. 

This  day's  sad  event 

Has  moved  my  inmost  soul !     No  faithful  friend 
Will  ever  love  like  him.     No  patriot  breathes 
But  weeps  for  you.     More  now  I  dare  not  say. 

CARLOS. 

Count  Lerma !  he  who's  gone  considered  you 
A  man  of  honor. 

LERMA. 

Farewell,  prince,  again ! 

Success  attend  you !     Happier  times  will  come  — 
But  I  shall  be  no  more.     Receive  my  homage  ! 

[Fatts  on  one  knee. 


318  'DON  CARLOS. 

CARLOS  (endeavors  to  prevent  him,  with  much  emotion). 

Not  so  —  not  so,  count !  I  am  too  much  moved  — 
I  would  not  be  unmanned  ! 

LEKMA  (kissing  his  hand  with  feeling). 

My  children's  king ! 
To  die  for  you  will  be  their  privilege  ! 
It  is  not  mine,  alas!     But  in  those  children 
Remember  me !     Return  in  peace  to  Spain. 
May  you  on  Philip's  throne  feel  as  a  man, 
For  you  have  learned  to  suffer  !     Undertake 
No  bloody  deed  against  your  father,  prince! 
Philip  compelled  his  father  to  yield  up 
The  throne  to  him ;  and  this  same  Philip  now 
Trembles  at  his  own  son.     Think,  prince,  of  that ! 
And  may  Heaven  prosper  and  direct  your  path ! 

\_Exit  quickly.  CARLOS,  about  to  hasten  away  by 
another  side,  but  turns  rapidly  round,  and  throics 
himself  down  before  the  corpse,  which  he  again 
folds  in  his  arms.  He  then  hurries  from  the 
room. 

SCENE  VIII. 

The  KING'S  Antechamber. 

DUKE  ALVA  and  DUKE  FERIA  enter  in  conversatio?i. 

ALVA. 
The  town  is  quieted.     How  is  the  king? 

FERIA. 

In  the  most  fearful  state.     Within  his  chamber 

He  is  shut  up,  and  whatso'er  may  happen 

He  will  admit  no  person  to  his  presence. 

The  treason  of  the  marquis  has  at  once 

Changed  his  whole  nature.     We  no  longer  know  him. 

ALVA. 

I  must  go  to  him,  nor  respect  his  feelings. 
A  great  discovery  which  I  have  made 

FERIA. 

A  new  discovery ! 


DON   CARLOS.  319 

ALVA. 

A  Carthusian  monk 

My  guards-observed,  with  stealthy  footsteps,  creep 
Into  the  prince's  chamber,  and  inquire 
With  anxious  curiosity,  about 

The  Marquis  Posa's  death.     They  seized  him  straight 
And  questioned  him.     Urged  by  the  fear  of  death, 
He  made  confession  that  lie  bore  about  him 
Papers  of  high  importance,  which  the  marquis 
Enjoined  him  to  deliver  to  the  prince, 
If,  before  sunset,  he  should  not  return. 

FERIA. 
Well,  and  what  further  ? 

ALVA. 

These  same  letters  state 
That  Carlos  from  Madrid  must  fly  before 
The  morning  dawn. 

FEKIA. 
Indeed  ! 

ALVA. 

And  that  a  ship  at  Cadiz  lies 
Ready  for  sea,  to  carry  him  to  Flushing. 
And  that  the  Netlierlands  but  wait  his  presence, 
To  shake  the  Spanish  fetters  from  their  arms. 

FERIA. 
Can  this  be  true  ? 

ALVA. 

And  other  letters  say 
A  fleet  of  Soliman's  will  sail  for  Rhodes, 
According  to  the  treaty,  to  attack 
The  Spanish  squadron  in  the  Midland  seas. 

FERIA. 

Impossible. 

ALVA. 

And  hence  I  understand 
The  object  of  the  journeys,  which  of  late 
The  marquis  made  through  Europe.     'Twas  no  less 
Than  to  rouse  all  the  northern  powers  to  arms 
In  aid  of  Flanders'  freedom. 


320  DON    CARLOS. 

FEKIA. 

Was  it  so? 

ALVA. 

There  is  besides  appended  to  these  letters 
The  full  concerted  plan  of  all  the  war 
Which  is  to  disunite  from  Spain's  control 
The  Netherlands  forever.     Naught  omitted  ; 
The  power  and  opposition  closj  compared; 
All  the  resources  accurately  noted, 
Together  with  the  maxims  to  be  followed, 
And  all  the  treaties  which  they  should  conclude. 
The  plan  is  fiendish,  but  'tis  no  less  splendid 

FERIA. 
The  deep,  designing  traitor ! 

ALVA. 

And,  moreover, 

There  is  allusion  made,  in  these  same  letters, 
To  some  mysterious  conference  the  prince 
Must  with  his  mother  hold  upon  the  eve 
Preceding  his  departure. 

FERIA. 

That  must  be 
This  very  day. 

ALVA. 

At  midnight.     But  for  this 
I  have  already  taken  proper  steps. 
You  see  the  case  is  pressing.     Not  a  moment 
Is  to  be  lost.     Open  the  monarch's  chamber. 

FERIA. 
Impossible  !     All  entrance  is  forbidden. 

ALVA. 

I'll  open  then  myself ;  the  increasing  danger 
Must  justify  my  boldness. 

[As  he  is  on  the  point  of  approaching  the  door  it 
opens,  and  the  KING  comes  out. 

FERIA. 

'Tis  himself ! 


DON    CARLOS.  321 

SCENE  IX. 
The  KING.     Ilie  preceding. 

All  are  alarmed  at  his  appearance,  fall  back,  and  let  him  pass 
through  them.  He  appears  to  be  in  a  leaking  dream,  like  a 
sleep-walker.  His  dress  and  figure  indicate  the  disorder 
caused  by  his  late  fainting.  With  alow  steps  he  walks  past  the 
GRANDEES  and  looks  at  each  with  a  fixed  eye,  but  without  rec- 
ognizing any  of  them.  At  last  he  stands  still,  wrapped  in 
thought,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  till  the  emotions  of  his 
mind  gradually  express  themselves  in  words. 

KING. 

Restore  me  back  the  dead  !     Yes,  I  must  have  him. 

DOMINGO  (whispering  to  ALVA). 
Speak  to  him,  duke. 

KING. 

He  died  despising  me! 

Have  him  again  I  must,  and  make  him  think 
More  nobly  of  me. 

ALVA  (approaching  with  fear). 
Sire! 

KING  (looking  round  the  circle). 

Who  speaks  to  me ! 

Have  you  forgotten  who  I  am?     Why  not 
Upon  your  knees,  before  your  king,  ye  creatures ! 
Am  I  not  still  your  king?     I  must  command 
Submission  from  you.     Do  you  all  then  slight  me 
Because  one  man  despised  me  ? 

ALVA. 

Gracious  king ! 

No  more  of  him  :  a  new  and  mightier  foe 
Arises  in  the  bosom  of  your  realm. 

FERIA. 

Prince  Carlos 

KING. 

Had  a  friend  who  died  for  him  ; 
For  him !     With  me  he  might  have  shared  an  empire. 


322  DON    CARLOS. 

How  he  looked  down  upon  me  !     From  the  throne 
Kings  look  not  down  so  proudly.     It  was  plain 
How  vain  his  conquest  made  him.     His  keen  sorrow 
Confessed  how  great  his  loss.     Man  weeps  not  so 
For  aught  that's  perishable.     Oh,  that  he  might 
But  live  again  !     I'd  give  my  Indies  for  it ! 
Omnipotence  !  thou  bring'st  no  comfort  to  me  : 
Thou  canst  not  stretch  thine  arm  into  the  grave 
To  rectify  one  little  act,  committed 
With  hasty  rashness,  'gainst  the  life  of  man. 
The  dead  return  no  more.     Who  dare  affirm 
That  I  am  happy  ?     In  the  tomb  he  dwells, 
Who  scorned  to  flatter  me.     What  care  I  now 
For  all  who  live  ?    One  spirit,  one  free  being, 
And  one  alone,  arose  in  all  this  age ! 
He  died  despising  me  ! 

ALVA. 

Our  lives  are  useless ! 

Spaniards,  let's  die  at  once !     E'en  in  the  grave 
This  man  still  robs  us  of  our  monarch's  heart. 

KING  (sits  down,  and  leans  his  head  on  his  arm). 
Oh  !  had  he  died  for  me  !     I  loved  him,  too, 
And  much.     Dear  to  me  was  he  as  a  son. 
In  his  young  mind  there  brightly  rose  for  me 
A  new  and  beauteous  morning.     Who  can  say 
What  I  had  destined  for  him?     He  to  me 
Was  a  first  love.     All  Europe  may  condemn  me, 
Europe  may  overwhelm  me  with  its  curse, 
But  I  deserved  his  thanks. 

DOMINGO. 

What  spell  is  this  ? 

KING. 

And,  say,  for  whom  did  he  desert  me  thus? 

A  boy,  —  my  son  ?     Oh,  no,  believe  it  not ! 

A  Posa  would  not  perish  for  a  boy  ; 

The  scanty  flame  of  friendship  could  not  fill 

A  Posa's  heart.     It  beat  for  human  kind. 

His  passion  was  the  world,  and  the  whole  course 

Of  future  generations  yet  unborn. 


DON    CARLOS.  323 

To  do  them  service  he  secured  a  throne  — 
And  lost  it.     Such  high  treason  'gainst  mankind 
Could  Posa  e'er  forgive  himself  ?     Oh,  no  ; 
I  know  his  feelings  better.     Not  that  he 
Carlos  preferred  to  Philip,  but  the  youth  — 
The  tender  pupil,  — to  the  aged  monarch. 
The  father's  evening  sunbeam  could  not  ripen 
His  novel  projects.     He  reserved  for  this 
The  young  son's  orient  rays.     Oh,  'tis  undoubted, 
They  wait  for  my  decease. 

ALVA. 

And  of  your  thoughts, 
Read  in  these  letters  strongest  confirmation. 

KING. 

'Tis  possible  he  may  miscalculate. 

I'm  still  myself.     Thanks,  Nature,  for  thy  gifts  ; 

I  feel  within  my  frame  the  strength  of  youth  ; 

I'll  turn  their  schemes  to  mockery.     His  virtue 

Shall  be  an  empty  dream  — his  death,  a  fool's. 

His  fall  shall  crush  his  friend  and  age  together. 

We'll  test  it  now  —  how  they  can  do  without  me. 

The  world  is  still  for  one  short  evening  mine, 

And  this  same  evening  will  I  so  employ, 

That  no  reformer  yet  to  come  shall  reap 

Another  harvest,  in  the  waste  I'll  leave, 

For  ten  long  generations  after  me. 

He  would  have  offered  me  a  sacrifice 

To  his  new  deity  —  humanity  ! 

So  on  humanity  I'll  take  revenge. 

And  with  his  puppet  I'll  at  once  commence. 

[  To  the  DUKE  ALVA. 

What  you  have  now  to  tell  me  of  the  prince, 
Repeat.     What  tidings  do  these  letters  bring? 

ALVA. 

These  letters,  sire,  contain  the  last  bequest 
Of  Posa  to  Prince  Carlos. 


324  BOX    CARLOS. 

KINO,  (reads  the  papers,  watched  by  all  present.  He  then 
lays  them  aside  and  icalks  in  silence  up  and  down  the 
room). 

Summon  straight 
The  cardinal  inquisitor ;  and  beg 
lie  will  bestow  an  hour  upon  the  king, 
This  very  night! 

TAXIS. 

Just  on  the  stroke  of  two 
The  horses  must  be  ready  and  prepared, 
At  the  Carthusian  monastery. 

ALVA. 

Spies 

Despatched  by  me,  moreover,  have  observed 
Equipments  at  the  convent  for  a  journey, 
On  which  the  prince's  arms  were  recognized. 

FERIA. 

And  it  is  rumored  that  large  sums  are  raised 
In  the  queen's  name,  among  the  Moorish  agents, 
Destined  for  Brussels. 

KING. 

Where  is  Carlos? 

ALVA. 

»Vith  Posa's  body. 

KING. 

And  there  are  lights  as  yet 
Within  the  queen's  apartments  ? 

ALVA. 

Everything 

Is  silent  there.     She  has  dismissed  her  maids 
Far  earlier  than  as  yet  has  been  her  custom. 
The  Duchess  of  Arcos,  who  was  last  with  her, 
Left  her  in  soundest  sleep. 

[An  officer  of  the  Body  Guard  enters,  takes  the  DUKE 
OF  FERIA  aside,  and  iohispers  to  him.  The  latter, 
struck  with  surprise,  turns  to  DUKE  ALVA.  The 
others  crowd  round  /dm,  and  a  murmuring  noise 
arises. 


DON    CARLOS.  325 

FEBIA,  TAXIS,  and  DOMINGO  (at  the  same  time). 
'Tis  wonderful! 

KING. 

What  is  the  matter ! 

FEBIA. 

News  scarce  credible ! 

DOMINGO. 

Two  soldiers,  who  have  just  returned  from  duty, 
Report  —  but  —  oh,  the  tale's  ridiculous  ! 

KING. 

What  do  they  say  ? 

ALVA. 

They  say,  in  the  left  wing 
Of  the  queen's  palace,  that  the  emperor's  ghost 
Appeared  before  them,  and  with  solemn  gait 
Passed  on.     This  rumor  is  confirmed  by  all 
The  sentinels,  who  through  the  whole  pavilion 
Their  watches  keep.     And  they,  moreover,  add, 
The  phantom  in  the  queen's  apartment  vanished. 

KING. 
And  in  what  shape  appeared  it? 

OFFICER. 

In  the  robes, 

The  same  attire  he  in  Saint  Justi  wore 
For  the  last  time,  apparelled  as  a  monk. 

KING. 

A  monk !     And  did  the  sentries  know  his  person 
Whilst  he  was  yet  alive  ?    They  could  not  else 
Determine  that  it  was  the  emperor. 

OFFICER. 

The  sceptre  which  he  bore  was  evidence 
It  was  the  emperor. 

DOMINGO. 

And  the  story  goes 
He  often  has  been  seen  in  this  same  dress. 


326  DON   CARLOS. 

KING. 
Did  no  one  speak  to  him  ? 

OFFICER. 

No  person  dared. 
The  sentries  prayed,  and  let  him  pass  in  silence. 

KING. 

The  phantom  vanished  in  the  queen's  apartments ! 

OFFICER. 
In  the  queen's  antechamber.  [  General  silence 

KING  (turns  quickly  round}. 

What  say  you  ? 
ALVA. 
Sire !  we  are  silent. 

KING  (after  some  thought,  to  the  OFFICER). 

Let  my  guards  be  ready 
And  under  arms,  and  order  all  approach 
To  that  wing  of  the  palace  to  be  stopped. 
I  fain  would  have  a  word  with  this  same  ghost. 

\_Exit  OFFICER.    Enter  a  PAGE. 

PAGE. 

The  cardinal  inquisitor. 

KING  (to  all  present). 

Retire ! 

[  The  CARDINAL  INQUISITOR,  an  old  man  of  ninety,  and 
blind,  enters,  supported  on  a  staff,  and  led  by  two 
Dominicans.  The  GRANDEES  fall  on  their  knees  as 
he  passes,  and  touch  the  hem  of  his  garment.  He 
gives  them  his  blessing,  and  they  depart. 

SCENE  X. 
The  KING  and  the  GRAND  INQUISITOR.    A  long  silence. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

Say,  do  I  stand  before  the  king  ? 

KING. 

You  do. 


DON   CARLOS.  327 

GBAND   INQUISITOR. 

I  never  thought  it  would  be  so  again  ! 

KINO. 

I  now  renew  the  scenes  of  early  youth, 

When  Philip  sought  his  sage  instructor's  counsel. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

Your  glorious  sire,  my  pupil,  Charles  the  Fifth, 
Nor  sought  or  needed  counsel  at  my  hands. 

KING. 

So  much  happier  he!     I,  cardinal, 
Am  guilty  of  a  murder,  and  no  rest 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

What  was  the  reason  for  this  murder? 

KING. 

'Twas 
A  fraud  unparalleled 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

I  know  it  all. 

KING. 

What  do  you  know?    Through  whom,  and  since  what 
time? 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

For  years  —  what  you  have  only  learned  since  sunset. 

KING  (with  astonishment). 
You  know  this  man  then ! 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

All  his  life  is  noted 

From  its  commencement  to  its  sudden  close, 
In  Santa  Casa's  holy  registers. 

KING. 
Yet  he  enjoyed  his  liberty  ! 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

The  chain 

With  which  he  struggled,  but  which  held  him  bound, 
Though  long,  was  firm,  nor  easy  to  be  severed. 


328  DON   CARLOS. 

KING. 

He  has  already  been  beyond  the  kingdom. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

Where'er  he  travelled  I  was  at  his  side. 

KING  (walks  backwards  and  forwards  in  displeasure). 
You  knew  the  hands,  then,  I  had  fallen  into; 
And  yet  delayed  to  warn  me ! 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

This  rebuke 

I  pay  you  back.     Why  did  you  not  consult  us 
Before  you  sought  the  arms  of  such  a  man  ? 
You  knew  him  :  one  sole  glance  unmasked  him  to  you. 
Why  did  you  rob  the  office  of  its  victim  ? 
Are  we  thus  trifled  with  !     When  majesty 
Can  stoop  to  such  concealment,  and  in  secret, 
Behind  our  backs,  league  with  our  enemies, 
What  must  our  fate  be  then  ?     If  one  be  spared 
What  plea  can  justify  the  fate  of  thousands  ? 

KING. 

But  he,  no  less,  has  fallen  a  sacrifice. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

No ;  he  is  murdered  —  basely,  foully  murdered. 
The  blood  that  should  so  gloriously  have  flowed 
To  honor  us  has  stained  the  assassin's  hand. 
What  claim  had  you  to  touch  our  sacred  rights? 
He  but  existed,  by  our  hands  to  perish. 
God  gave  him  to  this  age's  exigence, 
To  perish,  as  a  terrible  example, 
And  turn  high-vaunting  reason  into  shame. 
Such  was  my  long-laid  plan  —  behold,  destroyed 
In  one  brief  hour,  the  toil  of  many  years. 
We  are  defrauded,  and  your  only  gain- 
Is  bloody  hands. 

KING. 

Passion  impelled  me  to  it. 
Forgive  me. 


DON   CARLOS.  329 

GRAND  INQUISITOR. 

Passion !     And  does  royal  Philip 
Thus  answer  me  ?     Have  I  alone  grown  old  ? 

[Shaking  his  head  angrily. 

Passion  !     Make  conscience  free  within  your  realms, 
If  you're  a  slave  yourself. 

KING. 

In  things  like  this 
I'm  but  a  novice.     Bear  in  patience  with  me. 

GRAND  INQUISITOR. 

No,  I'm  ill  pleased  with  you  —  to  see  you  thus 
Tarnish  the  bygone  glories  of  your  reign. 
Where  is  that  Philip,  whose  unchanging  soul, 
Fixed  as  the  polar  star  in  heaven  above, 
Round  its  own  axis  still  pursued  its  course? 
Is  all  the  memory  of  preceding  years 
Forever  gone  ?     And  did  the  world  become 
New  moulded  when  you  stretched  your  hand  to  him  ? 
Was  poison  no  more  poison?     Did  distinction 
'Twixt  good  and  evil,  truth  and  falsehood,  vanish? 
What  then  is  resolution  ?     What  is  firmness? 
What  is  the  faith  of  man,  if  in  one  weak, 
Unguarded  hour,  the  rules  of  threescore  years 
Dissolve  in  air,  like  woman's  fickle  favor  ? 

KING. 

I  looked  into  his  eyes.     Oh,  pardon  me 
This  weak  relapse  into  mortality. 
The  world  has  one  less  access  to  your  heart ; 
Your  eyes  are  sunk  in  night. 

GRAND  INQUISITOR. 

What  did  this  man 

Want  with  you?     What  new  thing  could  lie  adduce, 
You  did  not  know  before?     And  are  you  versed 
So  ill  with  fanatics  and  innovators? 
Docs  the  reformer's  vaunting  language  sound 
So  novel  to  your  ears  ?     If  the  firm  edifice 
Of  your  conviction  totters  to  mere  words, 
Should  you  not  shudder  to  subscribe  the  fate 


330  DON    CARLOS. 

Of  many  thousand  poor,  deluded  souls 

Who  mount  the  flaming  pile  for  nothing  worse? 

KING. 
I  sought  a  human  being.     These  Domingos 

GRAND  INQUISITOR. 

How  !  human  beings  !     What  are  they  to  you  ? 

Cyphers  to  count  withal  —  no  more !     Alas ! 

And  must  I  now  repeat  the  elements 

Of  kingly  knowledge  to  my  gray-haired  pupil? 

An  earthly  god  must  learn  to  bear  the  want 

Of  what  may  be  denied  him.     When  you  whine 

For  sympathy  is  not  the  world  your  equal  ? 

What  rights  should  you  possess  above  your  equals  ? 

KING  (throwing  himself  into  a  chair). 
I'm  a  mere  suffering  mortal,  that  I  feel ; 
And  you  demand  from  me,  a  wretched  creature, 
What  the  Creator  only  can  perform. 

GRAND  INQUISITOR. 

No,  sire ;  I  am  not  thus  to  be  deceived. 
I  see  you  through.     You  would  escape  from  us. 
The  church's  heavy  chains  pressed  hard  upon  you ; 
You  would  be  free,  and  claim  your  independence. 

[He  pauses.     The  KING  is  silent. 
We  are  avenged.     Be  thankful  to  the  church, 
That  checks  you  with  the  kindness  of  a  mother. 
The  erring  choice  you  were  allowed  to  make 
Has  proved  your  punishment.     You  stand  reproved  ! 
Now  you  may  turn  to  us  again.     And  know 
If  I,  this  day,  had  not  been  summoned  here, 
By  Heaven  above  !  before  to-morrow's  sun, 
You  would  yourself  have  stood  at  my  tribunal ! 

KING. 

Forbear  this  language,  priest.     Restrain  thyself. 
I'll  not  endure  it  from  thee.     In  such  tones 
No  tongue  shall  speak  to  me. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

Then  why,  O  king ! 
Call  up  the  ghost  of  Samuel?    I've  anointed 


DON  CARLOS.  331 

Two  monarchs  to  tlie  throne  of  Spain.     I  hoped 

To  leave  behind  a  firm-established  work. 

I  see  the  fruit  of  all  my  life  is  lost. 

Don  Philip's  hands  have  shattered  what  I  built. 

But  tell  me,  sire,  wherefore  have  I  been  summoned  ? 

What  do  I  hear?    I  am  not  minded,  king, 

To  seek  such  interviews  again. 

KING. 

But  one  — 

One  service  more  —  the  last  —  and  then  in  peace 
Depart.     Let  all  the  past  be  now  forgotten  — 
Let  peace  be  made  between  us.     We  are  friends. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

When  Philip  bends  with  due  humility. 

KING  (after  a  pause). 
My  son  is  meditating  treason. 

GRAND   INQUISITOR, 

Well! 
And  what  do  you  resolve  ? 

KING, 

On  all,  or  nothing. 

GRAND   INQUISITOR. 

What  mean  you  by  this  all  ? 

KING. 

He  must  escape, 
Or  die. 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

Well,  sire!  decide. 

KING. 

And  can  you  not 

Establish  some  new  creed  to  justify 
The  bloody  murder  of  one's  only  son  ? 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

To  appease  eternal  justice  God's  own  Son 
Expired  upon  the  cross. 


332  DON    CARLOS. 

KING. 

And  can  you  spread 
This  creed  throughout  all  Europe  ? 

GBAND    INQUISITOR. 

Ay,  as  far 
As  the  true  cross  is  worshipped. 

KING. 

But  I  sin  — 

Sin  against  nature.     Canst  thou,  by  thy  power, 
Silence  her  mighty  voice. 

GBAND   INQUISITOR. 

The  voice  of  nature 
Avails  not  over  faith. 

KING. 

My  right  to  judge 

I  place  within  your  hands.     Can  I  retrace 
The  step  once  taken  ? 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

Give  him  to  me ! 

KING. 

My  only  son  !     For  whom  then  have  I  labored  ? 

GRAND    INQUISITOR. 

For  the  grave  rather  than  for  liberty ! 

KING  (rising  up). 
We  are  agreed.     Come  with  me. 

GRAND   INQUISITOR. 

Monarch !     Whither ! 
KING. 

From  his  own  father's  hands  to  take  the  victim. 

[  Leads  him  away. 


DON    CARLOS.  333 

SCENE  XT. 
Queen's  Apartment. 

CARLOS.  The  QUEEN.  Afterwards  the  KING  and  attendants. 
CARLOS  in  monk's  attire,  a  mask  over  his  face,  which  he  is  just 
taking  off";  under  his  arm  a  naked  sword.  It  is  quite  dark. 
He  approaches  a  door,  which  is  in  the  act  of  opening.  The 
QUEEN  comes  uut  in  her  night-dress  with  a  lighted  candle.  CAR- 
LOS falls  on  one  knee  before  her. 

CARLOS. 
Elizabeth ! 

QUEEN  (regarding  him  with  silent  sorrow). 
Do  we  thus  meet  again  ? 

CARLOS. 
'Tis  thus  we  meet  again !  [A  silence. 

QUEEN  (endeavoring  to  collect  herself). 

Carlos,  arise  ! 

We  must  not  now  unnerve  each  other  thus. 
The  mighty  dead  will  not  be  honored  now 
By  fruitless  tears.     Tears  are  for  petty  sorrows ! 
He  gave  himself  for  thee !     With  his  dear  life 
He  purchased  thine.     And  shall  this  precious  blood 
Flow  for  a  mere  delusion  of  the  brain  ? 
Oh,  Carlos,  1  have  pledged  myself  for  thee. 
On  that  assurance  did  he  flee  from  hence 
More  satisfied.     Oh,  do  not  falsify 
My  word. 

CARLOS  (with  animation) 

To  him  I'll  raise  a  monument 
Nobler  than  ever  honored  proudest  monarch, 
And  o'er  his  dust  a  paradise  shall  bloom  ! 

QUEEN. 

Thus  did  I  hope  to  find  thee  !     This  was  still 
The  mighty  purpose  of  his  death.     On  me 
Devolves  the  last  fulfilment  of  his  plans, 
And  I  will  now  fulfil  my  solemn  oath. 
Yet  one  more  legacy  your  dying  friend 
Bequeathed  to  me.     I  pledged  my  word  to  him, 


334  DON    CARLOS. 

And  wherefore  should  I  now  conceal  it  from  you  ? 

To  me  did  he  resign  his  Carlos  —  I 

Defy  suspicion,  and  no  longer  tremble 

Before  mankind,  but  will  for  once  assume 

The  courage  of  a  friend.     My  heart  shall  speak. 

He  called  our  passion  —  virtue  !     I  believe  him, 

And  will  my  heart  no  longer 

CARLOS. 

Hold,  O  queen ! 

Long  was  I  sunk  in  a  delusive  dream. 
I  loved,  but  now  I  am  at  last  awake : 
Forgotten  be  the  past.     Here  are  your  letters,  — 
Destroy  my  own.     Fear  nothing  from  my  passion, 
It  is  extinct.     A  brighter  flame  now  burns, 
And  purifies  my  being.     All  my  love 
Lies  buried  in  the  grave.     No  mortal  wish 
Finds  place  within  this  bosom. 

[After  a  pause,  taking  her  hand. 

I  have  come 

To  bid  farewell  to  you,  and  I  have  learned 
There  is  a  higher,  greater  good,  my  mother, 
Than  to  call  thee  mine  own.     One  rapid  night 
Has  winged  the  tardy  progress  of  my  years, 
And  prematurely  ripened  me  to  manhood. 
I  have  no  further  business  in  the  world, 
But  to  remember  him.     My  harvest  now 
Is  ended. 

\_He  approaches  the  QUEEN,  icho  conceals  hey  face, 
Mother !  will  you  not  reply ! 

QUEEN. 

Carlos !  regard  not  these  my  tears.     I  cannot 
Restrain  them.     But  believe  me  I  admire  you. 

CARLOS. 

Thou  wert  the  only  partner  of  our  league  : 
And  by  this  name  thou  shalt  remain  to  me 
The  most  beloved  object  in  this  world. 
No  other  woman  can  my  friendship  share, 
More  than  she  yesterday  could  win  my  love. 


DON    CARLOS.  335 

But  sacred  shall  the  royal  widow  be, 

Should  Providence  conduct  me  to  the  throne. 

[  The  KING,  accompanied  by  the  GRAND  INQUISITOR, 
appears  in  the  background  without  being  observed. 
I  hasten  to  leave  Spain,  and  never  more 
Shall  I  behold  my  father  in  this  world. 
Xo  more  I  love  him.     Nature  is  extinct 
Within  this  breast.     Be  you  again  his  wife  — 
His  son's  forever  lost  to  him  !     Return 
Back  to  your  course  of  duty  —  I  must  speed 
To  liberate  a  people  long  oppressed 
From  a  fell  tyrant's  hand.     Madrid  shall  hail 
Carlos  as  king,  or  ne'er  behold  him  more. 
And  now  a  long  and  last  farewell \_JJe  kisses  her. 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  Carlos ! 

How  you  exalt  me  !  but  I  dare  not  soar 
To  such  a  height  of  greatness :  —  yet  I  may 
Contemplate  now  your  noble  mind  with  wonder. 

CARLOS. 

Am  I  not  firm,  Elizabeth  ?     I  "hold  thee 

Thus  in  my  arms  and  tremble  not.     The  fear 

Of  instant  death  had,  yesterday,  not  torn  me 

From  this  dear  spot.  \_JIe  leaves  her. 

All  that  is  over  now, 
And  I  defy  my  mortal  destinies. 
I've  held  thee  in  these  arms  and  wavered  not. 
Hark  !    Heard  you  nothing !  \_A  clock  strikes. 

QUEEN. 

Nothing  but  the  bell 
That  tolls  the  moment  of  our  separation. 

CARLOS. 

Good  night,  then,  mother !   And  you  shall,  from  Ghent, 

Receive  a  letter,  which  will  first  proclaim 

Our  secret  enterprise  aloud.     I  go 

To  dare  King  Philip  to  an  open  contest. 

Henceforth  there  shall  be  naught  concealed  between  us ! 


336  DON    CAKLOS. 

You  need  not  shun  the  aspect  of  the  world. 
Be  this  my  last  deceit. 

[About  to  take  up  the  mask  —  the  KING  stands  between 
them. 

KING. 
It  is  thy  last. 

[  The  QUEEN  falls  senseless. 

CARLOS  (hastens  to  her  and  supports  her  in  his  arms). 
Is  the  queen  dead  ?     Great  heavens  ! 

KING  (coolly  and  quietly  to  the  GRAND  INQUISITOR). 

Lord  Cardinal ! 
I've  done  my  part.    Go  now,  and  do  your  own.     [Exit. 


DEMETRIUS 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 
THE  DIET  AT  CRACOW. 

On  the  rising  of  the  curtain  the  Polish  Diet  is  discovered,  seated 
in  the  great  senate  hall.  On  a  raised  platform,  elevated  by  three 
steps,  and  surmounted  by  a  canopy,  is  the  imperial  throne,  the 
escutcheons  of  Poland  and  Lithuania  suspended  on  each  side. 
The  KING  seated  upon  the  throne;  on  his  right  and  left  hand 
his  ten  royal  officers  standing  on  the  platform.  Below  the 
platform  the  BISHOPS,  PALATINES,  and  CASTELLANS  seated  on 
each  side  of  the  stage.  Opposite  to  these  stand  the  Provincial 
DEPUTIES,  m  a  double  line,  uncovered.  All  armed.  The  ARCH- 
BISHOP OF  GNESEN,  as  the  primate  of  the  kingdom,  is  seated 
next  the  proscenium  ;  his  chaplain  behind  him,  bearing  a  golden 
cross. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN. 

Thus  then  hath  this  tempestuous  Diet  been 

Conducted  safely  to  a  prosperous  close; 

And  king  and  commons  part  as  cordial  friends. 

The  nobles  have  consented  to  disarm, 

And  straight  disband  the  dangerous  Rocoss;* 

Whilst  our  good  king  his  sacred  word  has  pledged, 

That  every  just  complaint  shall  have  redress. 

And  now  that  all  is  peace  at  home,  we  may 

Look  to  the  things  that  claim  our  care  abroad. 

Is  it  the  will  of  the  most  high  Estates 

That  Prince  Demetrius,  who  hath  advanced 

A  claim  to  Russia's  crown,  as  Ivan's  son, 

Should  at  their  bar  appear,  and  in  the  face 

Of  this  august  assembly  prove  his  right  ? 

*  An  insurrectionary  muster  of  the  nobles. 

337 


338  DEMETRIUS. 

CASTELLAN  OF  CRACOW. 

Honor  and  justice  both  demand  he  should; 
It  were  unseemly  to  refuse  his  prayer. 
BISHOP  OF  WERMELAND. 

The  documents  on  which  he  rests  have  been 
Examined,  and  are  found  authentic.     We 
May  give  him  audience. 

SEVERAL  DEPUTIES.  Nay  !  We  must  we  must ! 

LEO  SAPTEHA. 

To  hear  is  to  admit  his  right. 
ODOWALSKY.  And  not 

To  hear  is  to  reject  his  claims  unheard. 
ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN. 

Is  it  your  will  that  he  have  audience  ? 
I  ask  it  for  the  second  time  —  and  third. 
IMPERIAL  CHANCELLOR. 

Let  him  stand  forth  before  our  throne ! 
SENATORS.  And  speak ! 

DEPUTIES.     Yes,  yes  !     Let  him  be  heard ! 

[  The  Imperial  GRAND  MARSHAL  beckons  with  his  baton 

to  the  doorkeeper,  who  goes  out. 
LEO  SAPIEHA  (to  the  CHANCELLOR). 

Write  down,  my  lord, 
That  here  I  do  protest  against  this  step, 
And  all  that  may  ensue  therefrom,  to  mar 
The  peace  of  Poland's  state  and  Moscow's  crown. 
\_Enters  DEMETRIUS.     Advances  some  steps  towards  the 
throne,  and  makes  three  bows  with  his  head  un- 
covered, first  to  the  KING,  next  to  the  SENATORS, 
and  then  to  the  DEPUTIES,  who  all  severally  answer 
with  an  inclination  of  the  head.     He  then  takes  H^ 
his  position  so  as  to  keep  within  his  eye  a  great 
portion  of  the  assemblage,  and  yet  not  to  turn  his 
back  upon  the  throne. 
ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN. 

Prince  Dmitri,  son  of  Ivan  !  if  the  pomp 

Of  this  great  Diet  scare  thee,  or  a  sight 

So  noble  and  majestic  chain  thy  tongue, 

Thou  may'st  —  for  this  the  senate  have  allowed  — 

Choose  thee  a  proxy,  wlieresoe'er  thou  list, 

And  do  thy  mission  by  another's  lips. 


DEMETRIUS.  339 

DEMETRIUS. 

My  lord  archbishop,  I  stand  here  to  claim 

A  kingdom,  and  the  state  of  royalty. 

'T would  ill  beseem  me  should  I  quake  before 

A  noble  people,  and  its  king  and  senate. 

I  ne'er  have  viewed  a  cii-cle  so  august, 

But  the  sight  swells  my  heart  within  my  breast 

And  not  appals  me.     The  more  worthy  ye, 

To  me  ye  are  more  welcome ;  I  can  ne'er 

Address  my  claim  to  nobler  auditory. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN. 

The  august  republic 
Is  favorably  bent. 

DEMETRIUS. 

Most  puissant  king  !     Most  worthy  and  most  potent 

Bishops  and  palatines,  and  my  good  lords, 

The  deputies  of  the  august  republic! 

It  gives  me  pause  and  wonder  to  behold 

Myself,  Czar  Ivan's  son,  now  stand  before 

The  Polish  people  in  their  Diet  here. 

Both  realms  were  sundered  by  a  bloody  hate, 

And,  whilst  my  father  lived,  no  peace  might  be. 

Yet  now  hath  Heaven  so  ordered  these  events, 

That  I,  his  blood,  who  with  my  nurse's  milk 

Imbibed  the  ancestral  hate,  appear  before  you 

A  fugitive,  compelled  to  seek  my  rights 

Even  here  in  Poland's  heart.     Then,  ere  I  speak, 

Forget  magnanimously  all  rancors  past, 

And  that  the  Czar,  whose  son  I  own  myself, 

Rolled  war's  red  billows  to  your  very  homes. 

I  stand  before  you,  sirs,  a  prince  despoiled. 

I  ask  protection.     The  oppressed  may  urge 

A  sacred  claim  on  every  noble  breast. 

And  who  in  all  earth's  circuit  shall  be  just, 

If  not  a  people  great  and  valiant,  —  one 

In  plenitude  of  power  so  free,  it  needs 

To  render  'count  but  to  itself  alone, 

And  may,  unchallenged,  lend  an  open  ear 

And  aiding  hand  to  fair  humanity. 

ARCHBISHOP  OP  GNESEN. 

You  do  allege  you  are  Czar  Ivan's  son; 


340  DEMETRIUS. 

And  truly,  nor  your  bearing  nor  you:  speech 
Gainsays  the  lofty  title  that  you  urge, 
But  shows  us  that  you  are  indeed  his  son. 
And  you  shall  find  that  the  republic  bears 
A  generous  spirit.     She  has  never  quailed 
To  Russia  in  the  field  !     She  loves,  alike, 
To  be  a  noble  foe  —  a  cordial  friend. 

DEMETRIUS.     Ivan  Wasilowitch,  the  mighty  Czar 
Of  Moscow,  took  five  spouses  to  his  bed, 
In  the  long  years  that  spared  him  to  the  throne 
The  first,  a  lady  of  the  heroic  line 
Of  Romanoff,  bare  him  Feodor,  who  reigned 
After  his  father's  death.     One  only  son, 
Dmitri,  the  last  blossom  of  his  strength, 
And  a  mere  infant  when  his  father  died, 
Was  born  of  Marfa,  of  Nagori's  line. 
Czar  Feodor,  a  youth,  alike  effeminate 
In  mind  and  body,  left  the  reins  of  power 
To  his  chief  equerry,  Boris  Godunow, 
Who  ruled  his  master  with  most  crafty  skill. 
Feodor  was  childless,  and  his  barren  bride 
Denied  all  prospect  of  an  heir.     Thus,  when 
The  wily  Boiar,  by  his  fawning  arts, 
Had  coiled  himself  into  the  people's  favor, 
His  wishes  soared  as  high  as  to  the  throne. 
Between  him  and  his  haughty  hopes  there  stood 
A  youthful  prince,  the  young  Demetrius 
Iwanowitsch,  who  with  his  mother  lived 
At  Uglitsch,  where  her  widowhood  was  passed. 
Now,  when  his  fatal  purpose  was  matured, 
He  sent  to  Uglitsch  ruffians,  charged  to  put 
The  Czarowitsch  to  death. 

One  night,  when  all  was  hushed,  the  castle's  wing, 
Where  the  young  prince,  apart  from  all  the  rest, 
With  his  attendants  lay,  was  found  on  fire. 
The  raging  flames  ingulfed  the  pile;  the  prince 
Unseen,  unheard,  was  spirited  away, 
And  all  the  world  lamented  him  as  dead. 
All  Moscow  knows  these  things  to  be  the  truth. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN. 

Yes,  these  are  facts  familiar  to  us  all. 


DEMETRIUS.  341 

The  rumor  ran  abroad,  both  far  and  near, 

That  Prince  Demetrius  perished  in  the  flames 

When  Uglitsch  was  destroyed.     And,  as  his  death 

Raised  to  the  throne  the  Czar  who  fills  it  now, 

Fame  did  not  hesitate  to  charge  on  him 

This  murder  foul  and  pitiless.     But  yet, 

His  death  is  not  the  business  now  in  hand  ! 

This  prince  is  living  still !     He  lives  in  you! 

So  runs  your  plea.     Now  bring  us  to  the  proofs  ! 

Whereby  do  you  attest  that  you  are  he  ? 

What  are  the  signs  by  which  you  shall  be  known? 

How  'scaped    you   those   were   sent   to   hunt   you 

down 

And  now,  when  sixteen  years  are  passed,  and  you 
Well  nigh  forgot,  emerge  to  light  once  more? 

DEMETRIUS. 

'Tis  scarce  a  year  since  I  have  known  myself; 
I  lived  a  secret  to  myself  till  then, 
Surmising  naught  of  my  imperial  birth. 
I  was  a  monk  with  monks,  close  pent  within 
The  cloister's  precints,  when  I  first  began 
To  waken  to  a  consciousness  of  self. 
My  impetuous  spirit  chafed  against  the  bars, 
And  the  high  blood  of  princes  began  to  course 
In  strange  unbidden  moods  along  my  veins. 
At  length  I  flung  the  monkish  cowl  aside, 
And  fled  to  Poland,  where  the  noble  Prince 
Of  Sendomir,  the  generous,  the  good, 
Took  me  as  guest  into  his  princely  house, 
And  trained  me  up  to  noble  deeds  of  arms. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEX. 

How?    You  still  ignorant  of  what  you  were? 

Yet  ran  the  rumor  then  on  every  side, 

That  Prince  Demetrius  was  still  alive. 

Czar  Boris  trembled  on  his  throne,  and  sent 

His  sassafs  to  the  frontiers,  to  keep 

Sharp  watch  on  every  traveller  that  stirred. 

Had  not  the  tale  its  origin  with  you  ? 

Did  you  not  give  the  rumor  birth  yourself  ? 

Had  you  not  named  to  any  that  you  were 

Demetrius  ? 


342  DEMETRIUS. 

DEMETRIUS.  I  relate  that  which  I  know. 

If  a  report  went  forth  I  was  alive, 
Then  had  some  god  been  busy  with  the  fame. 
Myself  I  knew  not.     In  the  prince's  house, 
And  in  the  throng  of  his  retainers  lost, 
I  spent  the  pleasant  springtime  of  my  youth. 

In  silent  homage 

My  heart  was  vowed  to  his  most  lovely  daughter. 
Yet  in  those  days  it  never  dreamed  to  raise 
Its  wildest  thoughts  to  happiness  so  high. 
My  passion  gave  offence  to  her  bethrothed, 
The  Castellan  of  Lemberg.    He  with  taunts 
Chafed  me,  and  in  the  blindness  of  his  rage 
Forgot  himself  so  wholly  as  to  strike  me. 
Thus  savagely  provoked,  I  drew  my  sword  ; 
He,  blind  with  fury,  rushed  upon  the  blade, 
And  perished  there  by  my  unwitting  hand. 

MEISCHEK. 

Yes,  it  was  even  so. 

DEMETRIUS. 

Mine  was  the  worst  mischance  !     A  nameless  youth, 

A  Russian  and  a  stranger,  I  had  slain 

A  grandee  of  the  empire —  in  the  house 

Of  my  kind  patron  done  a  deed  of  blood, 

And  sent  to  death  his  son-in-law  and  friend. 

My  innocence  availed  not ;  not  the  pity 

Of  all  his  household,  nor  his  kindness  —  his, 

The  noble  Palatine's,  —  could  save  my  life ; 

For  it  was  forfeit  to  the  law,  that  is, 

Though  lenient  to  the  Poles,  to  strangers  stern. 

Judgment  was  passed  on  me  —  that  judgment  death. 

I  knelt  upon  the  scaffold,  by  the  block  ; 

To  the  fell  headsman's  sword  I  bared  my  throat, 

And  in  the  act  disclosed  a  cross  of  gold, 

Studded  with  precious  gems,  which  had  been  hung 

About  my  neck  at  the  baptismal  font. 

This  sacred  pledge  of  Christian  redemption 

I  had,  as  is  the  custom  of  my  people, 

Worn  on  my  neck  concealed,  where'er  I  went, 

From  my  first  hours  of  infancy  ;  and  now, 

"When  from  sweet  life  I  was  compelled  to  part, 


DEMETRIUS.  343 

I  grasped  it  as  my  only  stay,  and  pressed  it 
-With  passionate  devotion  to  my  lips. 

[  The  Poles  intimate  their  sympathy  by  dumb  show. 
The  jewel  was  observed  ;  its  sheen  and  worth 
Awakened  curiosity  and  wonder. 
They  set  me  free,  and  questioned  me ;  yet  still 
I  could  not  call  to  memory  a  time 
I  had  not  worn  the  jewel  on  my  person. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  three  Boiars  who 
Had  fled  from  the  resentment  of  their  Czar 
Were  on  a  visit  to  my  lord  at  Sambor. 
They  saw  the  trinket,  —  recognized  it  by 
Nine  emeralds  alternately  inlaid 
With  amethysts,  to  be  the  very  cross 
Which  Ivan  Westislowsky  at  the  font 
Hung  on  the  neck  of  the  Czar's  youngest  son. 
They  scrutinized  me  closer,  and  were  struck 
To  find  me  marked  with  one  of  nature's  freaks, 
For  my  right  arm  is  shorter  than  my  left. 
Now,  being  closely  plied  with  questions,  I 
Bethought  me  of  a  little  psalter  which 
I  carried  from  the  cloister  when  I  fled. 
Within  this  book  were  certain  words  in  Greek 
Inscribed  there  by  the  Igumen  himself. 
What  they  imported  was  unknown  to  me, 
Being  ignorant  of  the  language.  Well,  the  psalter 
Was  sent  for,  brought,  and  the  inscription  read. 
It  bore  that  Brother  Wasili  Philaret 
(Such  was  my  cloister-name),  who  owned  the  book, 
Was  Prince  Demetrius,  Ivan's  youngest  son, 
By  Andrei,  an  honest  Diak,  saved 
By  stealth  in  that  red  night  of  massacre. 
Proofs  of  the  fact  lay  carefully  preserved 
Within  two  convents,  which  were  pointed  out. 
On  this  the  Boiars  at  my  feet  fell  down, 
Won  by  the  force  of  these  resistless  proofs, 
And  hailed  me  as  the  offspring  of  their  Czar. 
So  from  the  yawning  gulfs  of  black  despair 
Fate  raised  me  up  to  fortune's  topmost  heights. 
And  now  the  mists  cleared  off,  and  all  at  once 
Memories  on  memories  started  into  life 


344  DEMETRIUS. 

In  the  remotest  background  of  the  past. 

And  like  some  city's  spires  that  gleam  afar 

In  g  >lden  sunshine  when  naught  else  is  seen, 

80  in  my  soul  two  images  grew  bright, 

The  loftiest  sun-peaks  in  the  shadowy  past. 

I  saw  myself  escaping  one  dark  night, 

And  a  red  lurid  flame  light  up  the  gloom 

Of  midnight  darkness  as  I  looked  behind  me 

A  memory  'twas  of  very  earliest  youth, 

For  what  preceded  or  came  after  it 

In  the  long  distance  utterly  was  lost. 

In  solitary  brightness  there  it  stood 

A  ghastly  beacon- light  on  memory's  waste. 

Yet  I  remembered    how,  in  later  years, 

One  of  my  comrades  called  me,  in  his  wrath 

Son  of  the  Czar.     I  took  it  as  a  jest, 

And  with  a  blow  avenged  it  at  the  time. 

All  this  now  flashed  like  lightning  on  my  soul, 

And  toid  with  dazzling  certainty  that  I 

Was  the  Czar's  son,  so  long  reputed  dead. 

With  this  one  word  the  clouds  that  had  perplexed 

My  strange  and  troubled  life  were  cleared  away. 

Nor  merely  by  these  signs,  tor  such  deceive ; 

But  in  my  soul,  in  my  proud,  throbbing  heart 

I  felt  within  me  coursed  the  blood  of  kings ; 

And  sooner  will  I  drain  it  drop  by  drop 

Than  bate  one  jot  my  title  to  the  crown. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GXESEM. 

And  shall  we  trust  a  scroll  which  might  have  found 
Its  way  by  merest  chance  into  your  hands 
Backed  by  the  tale  of  some  poor  renegades  ? 
Forgive  me,  noble  youth!     Your  tone,  I  grant, 
And  bearing,  are  not  those  of  one  who  lies ; 
Still  you  in  this  may  be  yourself  deceived. 
Well  may  the  heart  be  pardoned  that  beguiles 
Itself  in  playing  for  so  high  a  stake. 
What  hostage  do  you  tender  for  your  word  ? 

DEMETRIUS. 

I  tender  fifty,  who  will  give  their  oaths, — 
All  Piasts  to  a  man,  and  free-born  Poles 
Of  spotless  reputation,  —  each  of  whom 


DEMETRIUS.  345 

Is  ready  to  enforce  what  I  have  urged. 
There  sits  the  noble  Prince  of  Sendomir, 
And  at  his  side  the  Castellan  of  Lublin  ; 
Let  them  declare  if  I  have  spoke  the  truth. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GXESEN. 

How  seem  these  things  to  the  august  Estates? 
To  the  enforcement  of  such  numerous  proofs 
Doubt    and    mistrust,    methinks,   must    needs    give 

way. 

Long  has  a  creeping  rumor  filled  the  world 
That  Dmitri,  Ivan's  son,  is  still  alive. 
The  Czar  himself  confirms  it  by  his  fears. 
—  Before  us  stands  a  youth,  in  age  and  mien 
Even  to  the  very  freak  that  nature  played, 
The  lost  heir's  counterpart,  and  of  a  soul 
Whose  noble  stamp  keeps  rank  with  his  high  claims. 
He  left  a  cloister's  precincts,  urged  by  strange, 
Mysterious  promptings  ;  and  this  monk-trained  boy 
Was  straight  distinguished  for  his  knightly  feats. 
He  shows  a  trinket  which  the  Czarowitsch 
Once  wore,  and  one  that  never  left  his  side; 
A  written  witness,  too,  by  pious  hands, 
Gives  us  assurance  of  his  princely  birth  ; 
And,  stronger  still,  from  his  unvarnished  speech 
And  open  brow  truth  makes  his  best  appeal. 
Such  traits  as  these  deceit  doth  never  don ; 
It  masks  its  subtle  soul  in  vaunting  words, 
And  in  the  high-glossed  ornaments  of  speech. 
No  longer,  then,  can  I  withhold  the  title 
Which  he  with  circumstance  and  justice  claims 
And,  in  the  exercise  of  my  old  right, 
I  now,  as  primate,  give  him  the  first  voice. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  LEMBEUG. 

My  voice  goes  with  the  primate's. 

SEVERAL  VOICES.  So  does  mine. 

SEVERAL  PALATINES. 
And  mine ! 

ODOWALSKY.         And  mine. 

DEPUTIES.  And  all! 

SAPIEHA.  My  gracious  sirs ' 

Weigh  well  ere  you  decide  !     Be  not  so  hasty ! 


346  DEMETRIUS. 

It  is  not  meet  the  council  of  the  realm 
Be  hurried  on  to  — 

ODOWALSKY.  There  is  nothing  here 

For  us  to  weigh  ;  all  has  been  fully  weighed. 
The  proofs  demonstrate  incontestably. 
This  is  not  Moscow,  sirs  !     No  despot  here 
Keeps  our  free  souls  in  manacles.     Here  truth 
May  walk  by  day  or  night  with  brow  erect. 
I  will  not  think,  my  lords,  in  Cracow  here, 
Here  in  the  very  Diet  of  the  Poles, 
That  Moscow's  Czar  should  have  obsequious  slaves. 

DEMETRIUS. 

Oh,  take  my  thanks,  ye  reverend  senators  ! 
That  ye  have  lent  your  credence  to  these  proofs ; 
And  if  I  be  indeed  the  man  whom  I 
Protest  myself,  oh,  then,  endure  not  this 
Audacious  robber  should  usurp  my  seat, 
Or  longer  desecrate  that  sceptre  which 
To  me,  as  the  true  Czarowitsch,  belongs. 
Yes,  justice  lies  with  me,  —  you  have  the  power. 
'Tis  the  most  dear  concern  of  every  state 
And  throne,  that  right  should  everywhere  prevail, 
And  all  men  in  the  world  possess  their  own. 
For  there,  where  justice  holds  uncumbered  sway, 
There  each  enjoys  his  heritage  secure, 
And  over  every  house  and  every  throne 
Law,  truth,  and  order  keep  their  angel  watch. 
It  is  the  key-stone  of  the  world's  wide  arch, 
The  one  sustaining  and  sustained  by  all, 
Which,  if  it  fail,  brings  all  in  ruin  down. 
(Answers  of  SENATORS  giving  assent  to  DEMETRIUS.) 

DEMETRIUS. 

Oh,  look  on  me,  renowned  Sigismund  ! 

Great  king,  on  thine  own  bosom  turn  thine  eyes. 

And  in  my  destiny  behold  thine  own. 

Thou,  too,  hast  known  the  rude  assaults  of  fate; 

Within  a  prison  earnest  thou  to  the  world ; 

Thy  earliest  glances  fell  on  dungeon  walls. 

Thou,  too,  hadst  need  of  friends  to  set  thee  free, 

And  raise  thee  from  a  prison  to  a  throne. 

These  didst  thou  find.     That  noble  kindness  thou 


DEMETRIUS.  347 

Didst  reap  from  them,  oh,  testify  to  me. 
And  you,  ye  grave  and  honored  councillors, 
Most  reverend  bishops,  pillars  of  the  church, 
Ye  palatines  and  castellans  of  fame, 
The  moment  has  arrived,  by  one  high  deed, 
To  reconcile  t\vo  nations  long  estranged. 
Yours  be  the  glorious  boast,  that  Poland's  power 
Hath  given  the  Muscovites  their  Czar,  and  in 
The  neighbor  who  oppressed  you  as  a  foe 
Secure  an  ever-grateful  friend.     And  you, 
The  deputies  of  the  august  republic, 
Saddle  your  steeds  of  fire  !     Leap  to  your  seats ! 
To  you  expand  high  fortune's  golden  gates ; 
I  will  divide  the  foeman's  spoil  with  you. 
Moscow  is  rich  in  plunder ;  measureless 
In  gold  and  gems,  the  treasures  of  the  Czar; 
I  can  give  royal  guerdons  to  my  friends, 
And  I  will  give  them,  too.     When  I,  as  Czar, 
Set  foot  within  the  Kremlin,  then,  I  swear, 
The  poorest  of  you  all,  that  follows  me, 
Shall  robe  himself  in  velvet  and  in  sables; 
With  costly  pearls  his  housings  shall  he  deck, 
And  silver  be  the  metal  of  least  worth, 
That  he  shall  shoe  his  horses'  hoofs  withal. 
\_Grent  commotion,   amoixj  the   DEPUTIES.      KORELA, 
Hettnan  of  the  Cossacks,  declares  himself  ready  to 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  an  army. 

ODOWALSK.V. 

How  !  shall  we  leave  the  Cossack  to  despoil  us 

At  once  of  glory  and  of  booty  both  ? 

We've  made  a  truce  with  Tartar  and  with  Turk, 

And  from  the  Swedish  power  have  naught  to  fear. 

Our  martial  spirit  has  been  wasting  long 

In  slothful  peace  ;  our  swords  are  red  with  rust. 

Up!  and  invade  the  kingdom  of  the  Czar, 

And  win  a  grateful  and  true-hearted  friend, 

Whilst  we  augment  our  country's  might  and  glory. 

MANY  DEPUTIES. 

War  !  War  with  Moscow  ! 

OTHERS.  Be  it  so  resolved! 

On  to  the  votes  at  once  ! 


348  DEMETRIUS. 

SAPIEHA  (rises).  Grand  marshal,  please 

To  order  silence !     I  desire  to  speak. 
A  CROAVD  OF  VOICES. 

War !  War  with  Moscow  ! 
SAPIEHA.  Nay,  I  will  be  heard. 

Ho,  marshal,  do  your  duty ! 

\_Great  tumult  within  and  outside  the  hall. 
GRAND  MARSHAL.  "Pis,  you  see, 

Quite  fruitless. 
SAPIEHA.  What?     The  marshal's  self  suborned? 

Is  this  our  Diet,  then,  no  longer  free  ? 

Throw  down  your  staff,  and  bid  this  brawling  cease ; 

I  charge  you,  on  your  office,  to  obey  ! 
[The  GRAND  MARSHAL  casts  his  baton  into  the  centre 
of  the  hall  /  the  tumult  abates. 

What   whirling   thoughts,    what   mad    resolves   are 
these  ? 

Stand  we  not  now  at  peace  with  Moscow's  Czar  ? 

Myself,  as  your  imperial  envoy,  made 

A  treaty  to  endure  for  twenty  years ; 

I  raised  this  right  hand,  that  you  see,  alof 

In  solemn  pledge,  within  the  Kremlin's  walls  ; 

And  fairly  hath  the  Czar  maintained  his  word. 

What  is  sworn  faith?  what  compacts,  treaties,  when 

A  solemn  Diet  tramples  on  them  all? 
DEMETRIUS. 

Prince  Leo  Sapieha  !     You  concluded 

A  bond  of  peace,  you  say,  with  Moscow's  Czar? 

That  did  you  not ;  for  I,  I  am  that  Czar. 

In  me  is  Moscow's  majesty  ;  I  am 

The  son  of  Ivan,  and  his  rightful  heir. 

Would  the  Poles  treat  with  Russia  for  a  pence, 

Then  must  they  treat  with  me !    Your  compact's  null. 

As  being  made  with  one  whose's  title's  null. 
ODOWALSKY. 

What  reck  we  of  your  treaty  ?     So  we  willed 

When  it  was  made  —  our  wills  are  changed  to-day. 
SAPIEHA. 

Is  it,  then,  come  to  this  ?     If  none  beside 

Will  stand  for  justice,  then,  at  least,  will  I. 

I'll  rend  the  woof  of/cunning  into  shreds,  . 


DEMETRIUS.  349 

And  lay  its  falsehoods  open  to  the  day. 

Most  reverend  primate!    art  thou,  canst  thou  be 

So  simple-souled,  or  canst  thou  so  dissemble? 

Are  ye  so  credulous,  my  lords?     My  liege, 

Art  thou  so  weak  ?     Ye  know  not  —  will  not  know 

Ye  are  the  puppets  of  the  wily  Waywode 

Of  Sendomir,  who  reared  this  spurious  Czar, 

Whose  measureless  ambition,  while  we  speak, 

Clutches  in  thought  the  spoils  of  Moscow's  wealth. 

Is't  left  for  me  to  tell  you  that  even  now 

The  league  is  made  and  sworn  betwixt  the  twain, — 

The    pledge   the    Waywode's    youngest    daughter's 

hand? 

And  shall  our  great  republic  blindly  rush 
Into  the  perils  of  an  unjust  war, 
To  aggrandize  the  Waywode,  and  to  crown 
His  daughter  as  the  empress  of  the  Czar? 
There's  not  a  man  he  has  not  bribed  and  bought. 
He  means  to  rule  the  Diet,  well  I  know  ; 
I  see  his  faction  rampant  in  this  hall, 
And,  as  'twere  not  enough  that  he  controlled 
The  Seym  Walmy  by  a  majority, 
He's  girt  the  Diet  with  three  thousand  horse, 
And  all  Cracow  is  swarming  like  a  hive 
With  his  sworn  feudal  vassals.     Even  now 
They  throng  the  halls  and  chambers  where  we  sit. 
To  hold  our  liberty  of  speech  in  awe. 
Yet  stirs  no  fear  in  my  undaunted  heart; 
And  while  the  blood  keeps  current  in  my  veins. 
I  will  maintain  the  freedom  of  my  voice ! 
Let  those  who  think  like  men  come  stand  by  me  J 
Whilst  I  have  life  shall  no  resolve  be  passed 
That  is  at  war  with  justice  and  with  reason. 
'Twas  I  that  ratified 'the  peace  with  Moscow, 
And  I  will  hazard  life  to  see  it  kept. 

ODOWALSKY. 

Give  him  no  further  hearing  !     Take  the  votes  ! 
[  The  BISHOP  OF  CRACOW  and  WILNA  rise,  and  descend 
each  to  his  own  side,  to  collect  the  votes. 

MAXT. 

War,  war  with  Moscow  ! 


350  DEMETRIUS. 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN  (to  SAPIEHA). 

Noble  sir,  give  way! 

You  see  the  mass  are  hostile  to  your  views; 
Then  do  not  force  a  profitless  division  ! 
IMPERIAL  HIGH  CHANCELLOR  (descends  from  the  throne 

to  SAPIEHA). 

The  king  entreats  you  will  not  press  the  point, 
Sir  Waywode,  to  division  in  the  Diet. 
DOORKEEPER  (aside  to  ODOWALSKY). 

Keep  a  bold  front,  and  fearless  —  summon  those 
That  wait  without.     All  Cracow  stands  by  you. 
IMPERIAL  GRAND  MARSHAL  (to  SAPIEHA). 

Such  excellent  decrees  have  passed  before  ; 
Oh,  cease,  and  for  their  sake,  so  fraught  with  good, 
Unite  your  voice  with  the  majority ! 
BISHOP  OF  CRACOW  (has  collected  the  votes  on  his  side). 

On  this  right  bench  are  all  unanimous. 
SAPIEHA. 

And  let  them  to  a  man  !     Yet  I  say  no ! 

I  urge  my  veto  —  I  break  up  the  Diet. 

Stay  further  progress !     Null  and  void  are  all 

The  resolutions  passed 

[General  commotion;  the  KING  descends  from  the 
throne,  the  barriers  are  broken  down,  and  there 
arises  a  tumultuous  uproar.  DEPUTIES  draw  their 
swords,  and  threaten  SAPIEHA  with  them.  The 
BISHOPS  interpose,  and  protect  him  icith  their 
stoles. 

Majority  ? 

What  is  it?     The  majority  is  madness; 
Reason  has  still  ranked  only  with  the  few. 
What  cares  he  for  the  general  weal  that's  poor  ? 
Has  the  lean  beggar  choice,  or  liberty? 
To  the  great  lords  of  earth,  that  hold  the  purse, 
He  must  for  bread  and  raiment  sell  his  voice. 
'Twere  meet   that  voices   should   be   weighed,   not 

counted. 

Sooner  or  later  must  the  state  be  wrecked, 
Where  numbers  sway  and  ignorance  decides. 
ODOWALSKY. 

Hark  to  the  traitor ! 


DEMETRIUS.  351 

DEPUTIES.  Hew  him  into  shreds  ! 

Down  with  him ! 

ARCHBISHOP  OF  GNESEN  (snatches  the  crucifix  out  of  his 
chaplain's  hand  and  interposes. 

Peace,  peace ! 

Shall  native  blood  be  in  the  Diet  shed  ? 
Prince  Sapieha!  be  advised! 

\_To  the  BISHOPS 
Bring  him  away, 

And  interpose  your  bosoms  as  his  shield! 
Through  this  side  door  remove  him  quietly, 
Or  the  wild  mob  will  tear  him  limb  from  limb! 
[SAPIEHA,    still    casting   looks   of  defiance,    is  forced 
away  by  the  BISHOPS,  whilst  the  ARCHBISHOPS  OF 
GNESEN  and  LEMBERG  keep  the  DEPUTIES  at  bay. 
Amidst  violent  tumult  and  clashing  of  arms,  the 
hall  is  emptied  of  all  but  DEMETRIUS,  MEISCHEK, 
ODOWALSKY,  and  the  Hetman  of  the  Cossacks. 
ODOAVALSKY. 

That  point  miscarried, — 
Yet  shall  you  not  lack  aid  because  of  this  : 
If  the  republic  holds  the  peace  with  Moscow, 
At  our  own  charges  we  shall  push  your  claims. 
KORELA. 

Who  ever  could  have  dreamed,  that  he  alone 
Would  hold  his  ground  against  the  assembled  Diet? 
MEISCHEK. 

The  king  !  the  king ! 

\_Enter  KING  SIGISMUND,  attended  by  the  LORD  HIGH 
CHANCELLOR,  the  GRAND  MARSHAL,  and  several 
BISHOPS. 

KING.  Let  me  embrace  you,  prince ! 

At  length  the  high  republic  does  you  justice  ; 
My  heart  has  done  so  long,  and  many  a  day. 
Your  fate  doth  move  me  deeply,  as,  indeed, 
What  monarch's  heart  but  must  be  moved  by  it? 
DEMETRIUS. 

The  past,  with  all  its  sorrows,  is  forgot; 
Here  on  your  breast  I  feel  new  life  begin. 
KING. 

I  love  not  many  words  ;  yet  what  a  king 


352  DEMETRIUS. 

May  offer,  who  has  vassels  richer  far 
Than  his  poor  self,  that  do  I  offer  you. 
You  have  been  witness  of  an  untoward  scene, 
But  deem  not  ill  of  Poland's  realm  because 
A  tempest  jars  the  vessel  of  the  state. 

MEISCHEK. 

When  winds  are  wild  the  steersman  backs  his  heln 
And  makes  for  port  with  all  the  speed  he  may. 

KING. 

The  Diet  is  dissolved.     Although  I  wished, 
I  could  not  break  the  treaty  with  the  Czar. 
But  you  have  powerful  friends;  and  if  the  Pole; 
At  his  own   risk,  take  arms  on  your  behalf, 
Or  if  the  Cossack  choose  to  venture  war, 
They  are  free  men,  I  cannot  say  them  nay. 

MEISCHEK. 

The  whole  Rocoss  is  under  arms  already. 
Please  it  but  you,  my  liege,  the  angry  stream 
That  raved  against  your  sovereignty  may  turn 
Its  wrath  on  Moscow,   leaving  you  unscathed. 

KING. 

The  best  of  weapons  Russia's  self  will  give  thee ; 
Thy  surest  buckler  is  the  people's  heart. 
By  Russia  only  Russia  will  be  vanished. 
Even  as  the  Diet  heard  thee  speak  to-day, 
Speak  thou  at  Moscow  to  thy  subjects,  prince. 
So  chain  their  hearts,  and  thou  wilt  be  their  king 
In  Sweden  I  by  right  of  birth  ascended 
The*  throne  of  my  inheritance  in  peace  ; 
Yet  did  I  lose  the  kingdom  of  my  sires 
Because  my  people's  hearts  were  not  with  me. 

Enter  MARINA. 
MEISCHEK. 

My  gracious  liege,  here,  kneeling  at  your  feet, 
Behold  Marina,  youngest  of  my  daughters ; 
The  prince  of  Moscow  offers  her  his  heart. 
Thou  art  the  stay  and  pillar  of  our  house, 
And  only  from  thy  royal  hand  'tis  meet 
That  she  receive  her  spouse  and  sovereign. 

[MARINA  kneels  to  the  KING 


DEMETRIUS.  353 

KING. 

Well,  if  you  wish  it,  cousin,  gladly  I 
Will  do  the  father's  office  to  the  Czar. 

[  To  DEMETRIUS,  giving  him  MARINA'S  hand 
Thus  do  I  bring  you,  in  this  lovely  pledge, 
High  fortune's  blooming  goddess ;  and  may  these 
Old  eyes  be  spared  to  see  this  gracious  pair 
Sit  in  imperial  state  on  Moscow's  throne. 

MARINA. 

My  liege,  I  humbly  thank  your  grace,  and  shall 
Esteem  me  still  your  slave  where'er  I  bo. 

KING. 

Rise  up,  Czaritza  !     This  is  not  a  place 
For  you,  the  plighted  bridemaid  of  the  C?ar; 
For  you,  the  daughter  of  my  foremost  Way  wode. 
You  are  the  youngest  of  your  sisters  ;  yet 
Your  spirit  wings  a  high  and  glorious  course, 
And  nobly  grasps  the  top  of  sovereignty. 

DEMETRIUS. 

Be  thou,  great  monarch,  witness  of  my  oath, 

As,  prince  to  prince,  I  pledge  it  here  to  you ! 

This  noble  lady's  hand  I  do  accept 

As  fortune's  dearest  pledge,  and  swear  that,  soon 

As  on  ray  father's  throne  I  take  my  seat, 

I'll  lead  her  home  in  triumph  as  my  bride, 

With  all  the  state  that  fits  a  mighty  queen. 

And,  for  a  dowry,  to  my  bride  I  give 

The  principalities  Pleskow  and  Great  Neugart, 

With  all  towns,  hamlets,  and  in-dwellers  there, 

With  all  the  rights  and  powers  of  sovereignty, 

In  absolute  possession  evermore; 

And  this,  my  gift,  will  I  as  Czar  confirm 

In  my  free  city,  Moscow.     Furthermore, 

As  compensation  to  her  noble  sire 

For  present  charges,  I  engage  to  pay 

A  million  ducats,  Polish  currency. 

So  help  me  God,  and  all  his  saints,  as  1 

Have  truly  sworn  this  oath,  and  shall  fulfil  it. 

KING. 

You  will  do  so ;  you  never  will  forget 

For  what  you  are  the  noble  Way  wode's  debtor ; 


354  DEMETRIUS. 

Who,  for  your  wishes,  perils  his  sure  wealth, 
And,  for  your  hopes,  a  child  his  heart  adores, 
A  friend  so  rare  is  to  be  rarely  prized  ! 
Then  when  your  hopes  are  crowned  forget  not  ever 
The  steps  by  which  you  mounted  to  the  throne, 
Nor  with  your  garments  let  your  heart  be  changed  ! 
Think,  that  in  Poland  first  you  knew  yourself, — 
That  this  land  gave  you  birth  a  second  time. 

DEMETRIUS. 

I  have  been  nurtured  in  adversity ; 

And  learned  to  reverence  the  beauteous  bond 

Which  links  mankind  with  sympathies  of  love. 

KING. 

But  now  you  enter  on  a  realm  where  all  — 
Use,  custom,  morals  —  are  untried  and  strange 
In  Poland  here  reigns  freedom  absolute ; 
The  king  himself,  although  in  pomp  supreme, 
Must  ofttime  be  the  serf  of  his  noblesse ; 
But  there  the  father's  sacred  power  prevails, 
And  in  the  subject  finds  a  passive  slave. 

DEMETRIUS. 

That  glorious  freedom  which  surrounds  me  here 
I  will  transplant  into  my  native  land, 
And  turn  these  bond-serfs  into  glad-souled  men  ; 
Not  o'er  the  souls  of  slaves  will  I  bear  rule. 

KING. 

Do  naught  in  haste  ;  but  by  the  time  be  led  ! 
Prince,  ere  we  part,  three  lessons  take  from  me, 
And  truly  follow  them  when  thou  art  king. 
It  is  a  king  that  gives  them,  old  and  tried, 
And  they  may  prove  of  profit  to  thy  youth. 

DEMETRIUS. 

Oh,  share  thy  wisdom  with  me  !    Thou  hast  won 
The  reverence  of  a  free  and  mighty  people ; 
What  must  I  do  to  earn  so  fair  a  prize  ? 

KING.  You  come  from  a  strange  land, 

Borne  on  the  weapons  of  a  foreign  foe  ; 
This  first  felt  wrong  thou  hast  to  wash  away. 
Then  bear  thee  like  a  genuine  son  of  Moscow, 
With  reverence  due  to  all  her  usages. 
Keep  promise  with  the  Poles,  and  value  them, 


DEMETRIUS.  355 

For  thou  hast  need  of  friends  on  thy  new  throne : 

The  arm  that  placed  thee  there  can  hurl  thee  down. 

Esteem  them  honorably,  yet  ape  them  not ; 

Strange  customs  thrive  not  in  a  foreign  soil. 

And,  whatsoe'er  thou  dost,  revere  thy  mother  — 

You'll  find  a  mother 

DEMETRIUS.  Oh,  my  liege  ! 

KING.  High  clain. 

Hath  she  upon  thy  filial  reverence. 

Do  her  all  honor.     'Twixt  thy  subjects  and 

Thyself  she  stands,  a  sacred,  precious  link. 

No  human  law  overrides  the  imperial  power; 

Nothing  but  nature  may  command  its  awe ; 

Nor  can  thy  people  own  a  surer  pledge, 

That  thou  art  gentle,  than  thy  filial  love. 

I  say  no  more.     Much  yet  is  to  be  done, 

Ere  thou  mak'st  booty  of  the  golden  fleece. 

Expect  no  easy  victory ! 

Czar  Boris  rules  with  strong  and  skilful  hand ; 

You  take  the  field  against  no  common  man. 

He  that  by  merit  hath  achieved  the  throne, 

Is  not  puffed  from  his  seat  by  popular  breath ; 

His  deeds  do  serve  to  him  for  ancestors. 

To  your  good  fortune  I  commend  you  now ; 

Already  twice,  as  by  a  miracle, 

Hath  it  redeemed  you  from  the  grasp  of  death ; 

'Twill  put  the  finish  on  its  work,  and  crown  you. 

[Exeunt  omnes  but  MARINA  and  ODOWALSKY 
ODOWALSKY. 

Say,  lady,  how  have  I  fulfilled  my  charge? 

Truly  and  well,  and  wilt  thou  laud  my  zeal? 
MARINA. 

'Tis,  Odowalsky,  well  we  are  alone ; 

Matters  of  weight  have  we  to  canvass  which 

'Tis  meet  the  prince  know  nothing  of.    May  he 

Pursue  the  voice  divine  that  goads  him  on ! 

If  in  himself  he  have  belief,  the  world 

Will  catch  the  flame,  and  give  him  credence  too. 

He  must  be  kept  in  that  vague,  shadowing  mist, 

Which  is  a  fruitful  mother  of  great  deeds, 

While  we  see  clear,  and  act  in  certainty. 


356  DEMETRIUS. 

He  lends  the  name  — the  inspiration  ;  we 

Must  bear  the  brain,  the  shaping  thought,  for  him  ; 

And  when,  by  art  and  craft,  we  have  insured 

The  needful  levies,  let  him  still  dream  on, 

And  think  they  dropped,  to  aid  him,  from  the  clouds 

ODOWALSKY. 

Give  thy  commands  :  I  live  but  for  thy  service. 

Think'st  thou  this  JVloscovite  or  his  affairs 

Concern  my  thoughts  ?   "Pis  thou,  thou  and  thy  glory 

For  which  I  will  adventure  life  and  all. 

For  me  no  fortune  blossoms ;  friendless,  landless, 

I  dare  not  let  my  hopes  aspire  to  thee. 

Thy  grace  I  may  not  win,  but  I'll  deserve  it. 

To  make  thee  great  be  my  one  only  aim  ; 

Then,  though  another  should  possess  thee,  still 

Thou  wilt  be  mine  —  being  what  I  have  made  thee. 

MABINA. 

Therefore  my  whole  heart  do  I  pledge  to  thee ; 

To  thee  I  trust  the  acting  of  my  thoughts. 

The  king  doth  mean  us  false.    I  read  him  through. 

'Twas  a  concerted  farce  with  Sapieha, 

A  juggle,  all !     'Twould  please  him  well,  belike, 

To  see  my  father's  power,  which  he  dreads  deeply, 

Enfeebled  in  this  enterprise  —  the  league 

Of  the  noblesse,  which  shook  his  heart  with  fear, 

Drawn  off  in  this  campaign  on  foreign  bounds, 

While  he  himself  sits  neutral  in  the  fray. 

He  thinks  to  share  our  fortune,  if  we  win ; 

And  if  we  lose,  he  hopes  with  greater  ease 

To  fix  on  us  the  bondage  of  his  yoke. 

We  stand  alone.     This  die  is  cast.     If  he 

Cares  for  himself,  we  shall  be  selfish  too. 

You  lead  the  troops  to  Kioff .     There  let  them  swear 

Allegiance  to  the  prince,  and  unto  me ;  — 

Mark  you,  to  me !     'Tis  needful  for  our  ends. 

I  want  your  eye,  and  not  your  arm  alone. 

ODOWALSKY. 

Command  me  —  speak  — 

MARINA.  You  lead  the  Czarowitsch 

Keep  your  eye  on  him  ;  stir  not  from  his  side, 
Render  me  'count  of  every  step  he  makes. 


DEMETRIUS.  357 

ODOWALSKY. 

Rely  on  me,  he'll  never  cast  us  off. 
MARINA. 

No  man  is  grateful.     Once  his  throne  is  sure, 

He'll  not  be  slow  to  cast  our  bonds  aside. 

The  Russian  hates  the  Pole  —  must  hate  him  ever ; 

No  bond  of  amity  can  link  their  hearts. 

Enter  OPALINSKY,  BIELSKY,  and  several  Polish  noblemen. 

OPALINSKY. 

Fair  patron,  get  us  gold,  and  we  march  with  you, 
This  lengthened  Diet  has  consumed  our  all. 
Let  us  have  gold,  we'll  make  thee  Russia's  queen. 

MARINA. 

The  Bishop  of  Kaminieck  and  Culm 
Lends  money  on  the  pawn  of  land  and  serfs. 
Sell,  barter,  pledge  the  hamlets  of  your  boors, 
Turn  all  to  silver,  horses,  means  of  war! 
War  is  the  best  of  chapmen.     He  transmutes 
Iron  into  gold.     Whate'er  you  now  may  lose 
You'll  find  in  Moscow  twenty-fold  again. 

BIELSKY. 

Two  hundred  more  wait  in  the  tavern  yonder ; 
If  you  will  show  yourself,  and  drain  a  cup 
With  them,  they're  yours,  all  yours  —  I  know  them 
well. 

MARINA. 

Expect  me !    You  shall  introduce  me  to  them. 

OPALINSKY. 

'Tis  plain  that  you  were  born  to  be  a  queen. 

MARINA. 

I  was,  and  therefore  I  must  be  a  queen. 

BIELSKY. 

Ay,  mount  the  snow-white  steed,  thine  armor  on, 
And  so,  a  second  Vanda,  lead  thy  troops, 
Inspired  by  thee,  to  certain  victory. 

MARINA.  My  spirit  leads  you.     War  is  not  for  women. 
The  rendezvous  is  in  Kioff.     Thither  my  father 
Will  lead  a  levy  of  three  thousand  horse. 
My  sister's  husband  givey  two  thousand  more, 


358    .  DEMETRIUS. 

And  the  Don  sends  a  Cossack  host  in  aid. 
Do  you  all  swear  you  will  be  true  to  me  ? 
ALL     All,  all  —  \ve  swear  !   (draw  their  swords  ) 

Vivat  Marina,  Russia  Regina ! 

[MARINA  tears  her  veil  in  pieces,  and  divides  it  among 
them.     Exeunt  omnes  but  MARINA. 

Enter  MEISCHEK. 

MARINA. 

Wherefore  so  sad,  when  fortune  smiles  on  us, 
When  every  step  thrives  to  our  utmost  wish, 
And  all  around  are  arming  in  our  cause  ? 

MEISCHEK. 

Tis  even  because  of  this,  my  child  !     All,  all 

Is  staked  upon  the  cast.     Thy  father's  means 

Are  in  these  warlike  preparations  swamped. 

I  have  much  cause  to  ponder  seriously ; 

Fortune  is  false,  uncertain  the  result. 

Mad,  venturous  girl,  what  hast  thou  brought  me  to? 

What  a  weak  father  have  I  been,  that  I 

Did  not  withstand  thy  importunities  ! 

I  &J1  the  richest  Waywode  of  the  empire, 

The  next  in  honor  to  the  king.     Had  we 

But  been  content  to  be  so,  and  enjoyed 

Our  stately  fortunes  with  a  tranquil  soul ! 

Thy  hopes  soared  higher — not  for  thee  sufficed 

The  moderate  station  which  thy  sisters  won. 

Thou  wouldst  attain  the  loftiest  mark  that  can 

By  mortals  be  achieved,  and  wear  a  crown. 

I,  thy  fond,  foolish  father,  longed  to  heap 

On  thee,  my  darling  one,  all  glorious  gains, 

So  by  thy  prayers  I  let  myself  be  fooled, 

And  peril  my  sure  fortunes  on  a  chance. 

MARINA. 

How  ?     My  dear  father,  dost  thou  rue  thy  goodness  ? 
Who  with  the  meaner  prize  can  live  content, 
When  o'er  his  head  the  noblest  courts  his  grasp? 

MEISCHEK. 

Thy  sisters  wear  no  crowns,  yet  they  are  happy. 

MARINA. 

What  happiness  is  that  to  leave  the  home 


DEMETRIUS.  359 

Of  the  Waywocle,  my  father,  for  the  house 

Of  some  count  palatine,  a  grateful  bride? 

"What  <lo  I  gain  of  new  from  such  a  change? 

And  can  I  joy  in  looking  to  the  morrow 

When  it  brings  naught  but  what  was  stale  to-day? 

Oh,  tasteless  round  of  petty,  worn  pursuits! 

Oh,  wearisome  monotony  of  life! 

Are  they  a  guerdon  for  high  hopes,  high  aims? 

Or  love  or  greatness  I  must  have  :  all  else 

Are  unto  me  alike  indifferent. 

Smooth  off  the  trouble  from  thy  brow,  dear  father  I 

Let's  trust  the  stream  that  bears  us  on  its  breast, 

Think  not  upon  the  sacrifice  thou  makest, 

Think  on  the  prize,  the  goal  that's  to  be  won  — 

When  thou  shalt  see  thy  daughter  robed  in  state, 

In  regal  state,  aloft  on  Moscow's  throne, 

And  thy  son's  sons  the  rulers  of  the  world ! 

MEISCHEK. 

I  think  of  naught,  see  naught,  but  thee,  my  child, 
Girt  with  the  splendors  of  the  imperial  crown. 
Thou'rt  bent  to  have  it ;  I  cannot  gainsay  thee. 

MARIXA. 

Yet  one  request,  my  dearest,  best  of  fathers, 
I  pray  you  grant  me ! 

MEISCHEK.  Name  thy  wish,  my  child. 

MARINA. 

Shall  I  remain  shut  up  at  Sambor  with 

The  fires  of  boundless  longing  in  my  breast  ? 

Beyond  the  Dnieper  will  my  die  be  cast, 

While  boundless  space  divides  me  from  the  spot ; 

Can  I  endure  it  ?    Oh,  the  impatient  spirit 

Will  lie  upon  the  rack  of  expectation 

And  measure  out  this  monstrous  length  of  space 

With  groans  and  anxious  throbbings  of  the  heart. 

MEISCHEK. 

What  dost   thou  wish?     What  is  it  thou  wouldst 
have? 

MARINA. 

Let  me  abide  the  issue  in  Kioff ! 

There  I  can  gather  tidings  at  their  source. 

There  on  the  frontier  of  both  kingdoms 


360  DEMETRIUS. 

MEISCHEK. 

Thy  spirit's  over-bold.     Restrain  it,  child  ! 
MARINA. 

Yes,  thou  dost  yield,  —  thou'lt  take  me  with  thee, 

then? 
MEISCHEK. 

Thou  rulest  me.     Must  I  not  do  thy  will  ? 
MARINA. 

My  own  dear  father,  when  I  am  Moscow's  queen 

Kioff,  you  know,  must  be  our  boundary. 

Kioff  must  then  be  mine,  and  thou  shalt  rule  it. 
MEISCHEK. 

Thou  dreamest,  girl !   Already  the  great  Moscow 

Is  for  thy  soul  too  narrow ;  thou,  to  grasp 

Domains,  wilt  strip  them  from  thy  native  land. 
MARINA. 

Kioff  belonged  not  to  our  native  land  ; 

There  the  Varegers  ruled  in  clays  of  yore. 

I  have  the  ancient  chronicles  by  heart; 

'Twas  from  the  Russian  empire  wrenched  by  force. 

I  will  restore  it  to  its  former  crown. 
MEISCHEK. 

Hush,  hush  !     The  Waywode  must  not  hear  such 
talk.  [  Trumpet  without. 

They're  breaking  up. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Greek  convent  in  a  bleak  district  near  the  sea  Belozero.  A  train 
of  nuns,  in  black  robes  and  veils,  passes  over  the  back  of  the 
stage.  MARFA,  in  a  white  veil,  stands  apart  from  the  others, 
leaning  on  a  tombstone.  OlXJA  steps  out  from  the  train,  remains 
gazing  at  her  for  a  time,  and  then  advances  to  her. 

OLGA. 

And  does  thy  heart  not  urge  thee  forth  with  us 
To  taste  reviving  nature's  opening  sweets  ? 
The  glad  sun  comes,  the  long,  long  night  retires, 
The  ice  melts  in  the  streams,  and  soon  the  sledge 
Will  to  the  boat  give  place  and  summer  swallow. 


DEMETRIUS.  361 

The  world  awakes  once  more,  and  the  new  joy 
-.     Woos  all  to  leave  their  narrow  cloister  cells 

For  the  bright  air  and  freshening  breath  of  spring. 
And  wilt  thou  only,  sunk  in  lasting  grief, 
Refuse  to  share  the  general  exultation? 

MARFA. 

On  with  the  rest,  and  leave  me  to  myself ! 
Let  those  rejoice  who  still  have  power  to  hope. 
The  time  that  puts  fresh  youth  in  all  the  world 
Brings  naught  to  me ;  to  me  the  past  is  all, 
My  hopes,  my  joys  are  with  the  things  that  were. 

OLGA. 

Dost  thou  still  mourn  thy  son  — still,  still  lament 
The  sovereignty  which  thou  has  lost?     Does  time, 
Which  pours  a  balm  on  every  wounded  heart, 
Lose  all  its  potency  with  thee  alone? 
Thou  wert  the  empress  of  this  mighty  realm, 
The  mother  of  a  blooming  son.     He  was 
Snatched  from  thee  by  a  dreadful  destiny ; 
Into  this  dreary  convent  wert  thou  thrust, 
Here  on  the  verge  of  habitable  earth. 
Full  sixteen  times  since  that  disastrous  day 
The  face  of  nature  hath  renewed  its  youth  ; 
Still  have  I  seen  no  change  come  over  thine, 
That  looked  a  grave  amid  a  blooming  world. 
Thou'rt  like  some  moonless  image,  carved  in  stone 
By  sculptor's  chisel,  that  doth  ever  keep 
The  selfsame  fixed  unalterable  mien. 

MARFA. 

Yes,  time,  fell  time,  hath  signed  and  set  me  up 
As  a  memorial  of  my  dreadful  fate. 
I  will  not  be  at  peace,  will  not  forget. 
That  soul  must  be  of  poor  and  shallow  stamp 
Which  takes  a  cure  from  time  —  a  recompense 
For  what  can  never  be  compensated ! 
Nothing  shall  buy  my  sorrow  from  me.    No, 
As  heaven's  vault  still  goes  with  the  wanderer, 
Girds  and  environs  him  with  boundless  grasp, 
Turn  where  he  will,  by  sea  or  land,  so  goes 
My  anguish  with  me,  wheresoe'er  I  turn ; 
It  hems  me  round,  like  an  unbounded  son; 
My  ceaseless  tears  have  failed  to  dniin  its  depths. 


362  DEMETRIUS. 

OLGA.  Oh,  see  !  what  ne\vs  can  yonder  boy  have  brought, 

The  sisters  round  him  throng  so  eagerly  ? 

He  comes  from  distant  shores,  where  homes  abound, 

And  brings  us  tidings  from  the  land  of  men. 

The  sea  is  clear,  the  highways  free  once  more. 

Art  thou  not  curious  to  learn  his  news  ? 

Though  to  the  world  we  are  as  good  as  dead, 

Yet  of  its  changes  willingly  we  hear, 

And,  safe  upon  the  shore,  with  wonder  mark 

The  roar  and  ferment  of  the  trairpling  waves. 

[NuNs  come  down  the  stage  with  a  FISHER  BOY. 
XKNIA —  HELEXA. 

Speak,  speak,  and  tell  us  all  the  news  you  bring. 
ALEXIA. 

Relate  what's  passing  in  the  world  beyond. 
FISHER  BOY. 

Good,  pious  ladies,  give  me  time  to  speak ! 
XENIA. 

Is't  war  —  or  peace  ? 

ALEXIA.  Who's  now  upon  the  throne  ? 

FISHER  BOY. 

A  ship  is  to  Archangel  just  come  in 

From  the  north  pole,  where  everything  is  ice. 
OLGA. 

How  came  a  vessel  into  that  wild  sea? 
FISHER  BOY. 

It  is  an  English  merchantman,  and  it 

Has  found  a  new  way  out  to  get  to  us. 
ALEXIA. 

What  will  not  man  adventure  for  his  gain  ? 
XEXIA. 

And  so  the  world  is  nowhere  to  be  barred ! 
FISHER  BOY. 

But  that's  the  very  smallest  of  the  news. 

'Tis  something  very  different  moves  the  world. 
ALEXIA. 

Oh,  speak  and  tell  us ! 

OLGA.  Say,  what  has  occurred? 

FISHER  BOY. 

We  live  to  hear  strange  marvels  nowadays  : 

The  dead  rise  up,  and  come  to  life  again 


DEMETRIUS.  363 

OLGA. 

Explain  yourself. 
FISHER  BOY.  Prince  Dmitri,  Ivan's  son, 

Whom  we  have  mourned  for  dead  these  sixteen  yenrs, 

Is  now  alive,  and  has  appeared  in  Poland. 
OLGA. 

The  prince  alive  ? 
MARFA  (starting).          My  son  ! 
OLGA.  Compose  thyself ! 

Calm  down  thy  heart  till  we  have  learned  the  whole. 
ALEXIA. 

How  can  this  possibly  be  so,  when  he 

Was  killed,  and  perished  in  the  flames  at  Uglitech? 
FISHER  BOY. 

He  managed  somehow  to  escape  the  fire, 

And  found  protection  in  a  monastery. 

There  he  grew  up  in  secrecy,  until 

His  time  was  come  to  publish  who  he  was. 
OLGA  (to  MARFA). 

You  tremble,  princess  !     You  grow  pale  ! 
MARFA.  I  know 

That  it  must  be  delusion,  yet  so  little 

Is  my  heart  steeled  'gainst  fear  and  hope  e'en  now, 

That  in  my  breast  it  flutters  like  a  bird. 
OLGA. 

Why  should  it  be  delusion?    Mark  his  words! 

How  could  this  rumor  spread  without  good  cause? 
FISHER  BOY. 

Without  good  cause  ?     The  Lithuanians 

And  Poles  are  all  in  arms  upon  his  side. 

The  Czar  himself  quakes  in  his  capital. 
[MARFA  is  compelled  by  her  emotion   to  lean 

OLGA  a.nd  ALEXIA. 
XENIA. 

Speak  on,  speak,  tell  us  everything  you  know. 
ALEXIA. 

And  tell  us,  too,  of  whom  you  stole  the  news 
FISHER   BOY. 

I  stole  the  news  ?     A  letter  has  gone  forth 

To  every  town  and  province  from  the  Czar. 

This  letter  thePosadmik  of  our  town 


364  DEMETRIUS. 

Read  to  us  all,  in  o^cn  market-place. 

It  bore,  that  busy  schemers  were  abroad. 

And  that  we  should  not  lend  their  tales  belief. 

But  this  made  us  believe  them ;  for,  had  they 

Been  false,  the  Czar  would  have  despised  the  lie. 

MABFA. 

Is  this  the  calm  I  thought  I  had  achieved  ? 
And  clings  my  heart  so  close  to  temporal  things, 
That  a  mere  word  can  shake  my  inward  soul  ? 
For  sixteen  years  have  I  bewailed  my  son, 
And  yet  at  once  believe  that  still  he  lives. 

OLGA. 

Sixteen  long  years  thou'st  mourned  for  him  as 
And  yet  his  ashes  thou  hast  never  seen  ! 
Naught  countervails  the  truth  of  the  report. 
Nay,  does  not  Providence  watch  o'er  the  fate 
Of  kings  and  monarchies?    Then  welcome  hopel 
More  things  befall  than  thou  canst  comprehend. 
Who  can  set  limits  to  the  Almighty's  power? 

MARFA. 

Shall  I  turn  back  to  look  again  on  life, 

To  which  long  since  I  spoke  a  sad  farewell  ? 

It  was  not  with  the  dead  my  hopes  abode. 

Oh,  say  no  more  of  this.     Let  not  my  heart 

Hang  on  this  phantom  hope !     Let  me  not  lose 

My  darling  son  a  second  time.     Alas! 

My  peace  of  mind  is  gone,  —  my  dream  of  peace 

I  cannot  trust  these  tidings,  —  yet,  alas, 

I  can  no  longer  dash  them  from  my  soul ! 

Woe's  me,  I  never  lost  my  son  till  now. 

Oh,  now  I  can  no  longer  tell  if  I 

Shall  seek  him  'mongst  the  living  or  the  dead, 

Tossed  on  the  rock  of  never-ending  doubt. 

[A  bell  sounds,  —  the  sister  PORTERESS  enters. 

OU5A. 

Why  has  the  bell  been  sounded,  sister,  say? 
PORTERESS. 

The  lord  archbishop  waits  without ;  he  brings 

A  message  from  the  Czar,  and  craves  an  audience. 
OLGA.  Does  the  archbishop  stand  within  our  gates? 

What  strange  occurrence  can  have  brought. him  here? 


DEMETRIUS.  365 

XENIA. 

Come  all,  and  give  him  greeting  as  befits. 
[They  advance  towards  the  gate  as  the  ARCHBISHOP 
enters  /    they  all  kneel  before  him,  and  he  make.* 
the  sign  of  t/te  Greek  cross  over  them. 

Ion.  The  kiss  of  peace  I  bring  you  in  the  name 
Of  Father,  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
Proceeding  from  the  Father ! 

OLGA.  Sir,  we  kiss 

In  humblest  reverence  thy  paternal  hand ! 

Command  thy  daughters ! 

Ion.  My  mission  is  addressed  to  Sister  Marfa. 

OLGA. 

See,  here  she  stands,  and  waits  to  know  thy  will. 

[All  the  XUNS  withdraw 

IQJJ.  It  is  the  mighty  prince  who  sends  me  here; 
Upon  his  distant  throne  he  thinks  of  thee ; 
For  as  the  sun,  with  his  great  eye  of  flame, 
Sheds  light  and  plenty  all  abroad  the  world, 
So  sweeps  the  sovereign's  eye  on  every  side ; 
Even  to  the  farthest  limits  of  his  realm 
His  care  is  wakeful  and  his  glance  is  keen. 

MARFA. 

How  far  his  arm  can  strike  I  know  too  well. 

Ion.  He  knows  the  lofty  spirit  fills  thy  soul, 
And  therefore  feels  indignantly  the  wrong 
A  bold-faced  villain  dares  to  offer  thee. 
Learn,  then,  in  Poland,  an  audacious  churl, 
A  renegade,  who  broke  his  monkish  vows, 
Laid  down  his  habit,  and  renounced  his  God, 
Doth  use  the  name  and  title  of  thy  son, 
Whom  death  snatched  from  thee  in  his  infancy. 
The  shameless  varlet  boasts  him  of  thy  blood, 
And  doth  affect  to  be  Czar  Ivan's  son  ; 
A  Way wode  breaks  the  peace ;  from  Poland  leads 
This  spurious  monarch,  whom  himself  created, 
Across  our  frontiers,  with  an  armed  power: 
So  he  beguiles  the  Russians'  faithful  hearts, 
And  lures  them  on  to  treason  and  revolt. 

The  Czar, 
With  pure,  paternal  feeling,  sends  me  to  thee. 


366  DEMETRIUS. 

Thou  hold'st  the  manes  of  thy  son  in  honor; 

Nor  wilt  permit  a  bold  adventurer 

To  steal  his  name  and  title  from  the  tomb, 

And  with  audacious  hand  usurj)  his  rights. 

Thou  wilt  proclaim  aloud  to  all  the  world 

That  thou  dost  own  him  for  no  son  of  thine. 

Thou  wilt  not  nurse  a  bastard's  alien  blood 

Upon  thy  heart,  that  beats  so  nobly;  never! 

Thou  wilt —  and  this  the  Czar  expects  from  thee  — 

Give  the  vile  counterfeit  the  lie,  with  all 

The  righteous  indignation  it  deserves. 

MARFA  (who  has  daring  the  last  speech  subdued  the  m.os\ 

violent  emotion). 

What  do  I  hear,  archbishop?     Can  it  be? 
Oh,  tell  me,  by  what  signs  and  marks  of  proof 
This  bold-faced  trickster  doth  uphold  himself 
As  Ivan's  son,  whom  we  bewailed  as  dead  ? 

IOB.  By  some  faint,  shadowy  likeness  to  the  Czar, 
By  documents  which  chance  threw  in  his  way, 
And  by  a  precious  trinket,  which  he  shows, 
He  cheats  the  credulous  and  wondering  mob. 

MARFA. 

What  is  the  trinket?     Oh,  pray,  tell  me  what? 

IOB.  A  golden  cross,  gemmed  with  nine  emeralds, 
Which  Ivan  Westislowsky,  so  he  says, 
Hung  round  his  neck  at  the  baptismal  font. 

MARFA. 

What  do  you  say?     He  shows  this  trinket,  this? 

[  With  forced  composure 
And  how  does  he  allege  he  came  by  it? 

IOB.  A  faithful  servant  and  Diak,  he  says, 

Preserved  him  from  the  assassins  and  the  flames, 
And  bore  him  to  Smolenskow  privily. 

MARFA. 

But  where  was  he  brought  up  ?  Where,  gives  he  forthj 
Was  he  concealed  and  fostered  until  now? 

IOB.  In  Tschudow's  monastery  he  was  reared, 

Unknowing  who  he  was  ;  from  thence  he  fled 
To  Lithuania  and  Poland,  where 
He  served  the  Prince  of  Sendomir,  until 
An  accident  revealed  his  origin. 


DEMETRIUS.  367 

MABFA. 

With  such  a  tale  as  this  can  he  find  friends 
To  peril  life  and  fortune  in  his  cause? 

IOB.  Oh,  madam,  false,  false-hearted  is  the  Pole, 
And  enviously  he  eyes  our  country's  wealth. 
He  welcomes  every  pretext  that  may  serve 
To  light  the  flames  of  war  within  our  bounds ! 

MARFA. 

And  were  there  credulous  spirits,  even  in  Moscow 
Could  by  this  juggle  be  so  lightly  stirred? 

IOB.  Oh,  fickle,  princess,  is  the  people's  heart ! 
Tiiey  dote  on  alteration,  and  expect 
To  reap  advantage  from  a  change  of  rulers. 
The  bold  assurance  of  the  falsehood  charms ; 
The  marvellous  finds  favor  and  belief. 
Therefore  the  Czar  is  anxious  thou  shouldst  quell 
This  mad  delusion,  as  thou  only  canst. 
A  word  from  thee  annihilates  the  traitor 
That  falsely  claims  the  title  of  thy  son. 
It  joys  me  thus  to  see  thee  moved.     I  see 
The  audacious  juggle  rouses  all  thy  pride, 
And,  with  a  noble  anger  paints  thy  cheek. 

MARFA. 

And  where,  where,  tell  me,  does  he  tarry  now, 
Who  dares  usurp  the  title  of  my  son  ? 

IOB.  E'en  now  he's  moving  on  to  Tscherinsko ; 

His  camp  at  Kioff  has  broke  up,  'tis  rumored  ; 
And  with  a  force  of  mounted  Polish  troops 
And  Don  Cossacks,  he  comes  to  push  his  claims. 

MARFA. 

Oh,  God  Almighty,  thanks,  thanks,  thanks,  that  tlioi; 
Hast  sent  me  rescue  and  revenge  at  last ! 

IOB.  How,  Marfa,  how  am  I  to  construe  this  ? 

MARFA. 

Ob,  heavenly  powers,  conduct  him  safely  here! 
Hover,  oh  all  ye  angels,  round  his  banners ! 

IOB.  Can  it  be  so  ?    The  traitor,  canst  thou  trust 

MARFA. 

He  is  my  son.     Yes !  by  these  signs  alone 

I  recognize  him.     By  thy  Cz-  r's  alarm 

I  recognize  him.     Yes!     He  lives!     He  comes! 


368  DEMETRIUS. 

Down,  tyrant,  from  thy  throne,  and  shake  with  fear  I 
There  still  doth  live  a  shoot  from  Rurik's  stem  ; 
The  genuine  Czar  —  the  rightful  heir  draws  nigh, 
He  comes  to  claim  a  reckoning  for  his  own. 

IOB.  Dost  thou  bethink  thee  what  thou  say'st  ?   'Tis  mad 
ness  ! 

MARFA. 

At  length  —  at  length  has  dawned  the  day  of  ven- 
geance, — • 

Of  restoration.     Innocence  is  dragged 
To  light  by  heaven  from  the  grave's  midnight  gloom. 
The  haughty  Godunow,  my  deadly  foe, 
Must  crouch  and  sue  for  mercy  at  my  feet ; 
Oh,  now  my  burning  wishes  are  fulfilled! 

IOB.  Can  hate  and  rancorous  malice  blind  you  so  ? 

MARFA.   Can  terror  blind  your  monarch  so,  that  he 
Should  hope  deliverance  from  me  —  from  me  — 
Whom  he  hath  done  immeasurable  wrong  ? 
I  shall,  forsooth,  deny  the  son  whom  heaven 
Restores  me  by  a  miracle  from  the  grave, 
And  to  please  him,  the  butcher  of  my  house, 
Who  piled  upon  me  woes  unspeakable? 
Yes,  thrust  from  me  the  succor  God  has  sent 
In  the  sad  evening  of  my  heavy  anguish? 
No,  thou  escap'st  me  not.     No,  thou  shalt  hear  me 
I  have  thee  fast,  I  will  not  let  thee  free. 
Oh,  I  can  ease  my  bosom's  load  at  last ! 
At  last  launch  forth  against  mine  enemy 
The  long-pent  anger  of  my  inmost  soul ! 

Who  was  it,  who, 

That  shut  me  up  within  this  living  tomb, 
In  all  the  strength  and  freshness  of  my  youth, 
With  all  its  feelings  glowing  in  my  breast? 
Who  from  rny  bosom  rent  my  darling  son, 
And  chartered  ruffian  hands  to  take  his  life  ? 
Oh,  words  can  never  tell  what  I  have  suffered, 
When,  with  a  yearning  that  would  not  be  still, 
I  watched  throughout  the  long,  long  starry  nights, 
And  notecl  with  my  tears  the  hours  elapse  ! 
The  day  of  succor  comes,  and  of  revenge  ; 
1  see  the  mighty  glorying  in  his  might, 


DEMETRIUS. 

IOB.  You  think  iLe  Czar  will  dread  you — yon  mistake. 

MARFA. 

He's  in  my  power — one  little  word  from  me, 

One  only,  sets  the  seal  upon  his  fate  i 

It  was  for  this  thy  master  sent  thee  here ! 

The  eyes  of  Kussia  and  of  Poland  now 

Are  closely  bent  upon  me.     If  I  own 

The  Czarowitsch  as  Ivan's  son  and  mine, 

Then  all  will  do  him  homage;  his  the  throne. 

If  I  disown  him,  then  he  is  undone ; 

For  who  will  credit  that  his  rightful  mother, 

A  mother  wronged,  so  foully  wronged  as  I, 

Could  from  her  heart  repulse  its  darling  child, 

To  league  with  the  despoilers  of  her  house? 

I  need  but  speak  one  word  and  all  the  world 

Deserts  him  as  a  traitor.     Is't  not  so  ? 

This  word  you  wish  from  me.     That  mighty  service. 

Confess,  I  can  perform  for  Godunow  ! 

IOB.  Thou  wouldst  perform  it  for  thy  country,  and 
Avert  the  dread  calamities  of  war, 
Shouldst  thou  do  homage  to  the  truth.    Thyself, 
Ay,  thou  hast  ne'er  a  doubt  thy  son  is  dead  ; 
And  couldst  thou  testify  against  thy  conscience? 

MAKFA. 

These  sixteen  years  I've  mourned  his  death ;  but  yei 

I  ne'er  have  seen  his  ashes.     I  believed 

His  death,  there  trusting  to  the  general  voice 

And  my  sad  heart  —  I  now  believe  he  lives, 

Trusting  the  general  voice  and  my  strong  hope. 

'Twere  impious,  with  audacious  doubts,  to  seek 

To  set  a  bound  to  the  Almighty's  will ; 

And  even  were  he  not  my  heart's  dear  son, 

Yet  should  he  be  the  son  of  my  revenge. 

In  my  child's  room  I  take  him  to  my  breast, 

Whom  heaven  has  sent  me  to  avenge  my  wrongs. 

IOB.  Unhappy  one,  dost  thou  defy  the  strong? 
From  his  far-reaching  arm  thou  art  not  safe 
Even  in  the  convent's  distant  solitude. 

M.  *  RFA. 

Kill  me  he  may,  and  stifle  in  the  grave, 

Or  dungeon's  gloom,  my  woman's  voice,  that  it 


•570  DEMET1UUS. 

Shall  not  reverberate  throughout  the  world. 
This  he  may  do ;  but  force  me  to  speak  aught 
Against  my  will,  that  can  he  not;  though  backed 
By  all  thy  craft  —  no,  he  has  missed  his  aim ! 

JOB.  Is  this  thy  final  purpose.     Ponder  well ! 
Hast  thou  no  gentler  message  for  the  Czar? 

MA  UFA. 

Tell  him  to  hope  for  heaven,  if  so  he  dare, 
And  for  his  people's  love,  if  so  he  can. 

IOB.  Enough  !  thou  art  bent  on  thy  destruction. 

Thou  lean'st  upon  a  reed,  will  break  beneath  thee ; 
One  common  ruin  will  o'erwhelm  ye  both.  [Exit 

MA&FA. 

It  is  my  son,  I  cannot  doubt  'tis  he. 

Even  the  wild  hordes  of  the  uncultured  wastes 

Take  arms  upon  his  side;  the  haughty  Pole, 

The  palatine,  doth  stake  his  noble  daughter 

On  the  pure  gold  of  his  most  righteous  cause, 

And  I  alone  reject  him  —  I,  his  mother? 

I,  only  I,  shook  not  beneath  the  storm 

Of  joy  that  lifts  all  hearts  with  dizzying  whirl, 

And  scatters  turmoil  widely  o'er  the  earth. 

He  is  my  son  —  I  must,  will  trust  in  him, 

And  grasp  with  living  confidence  the  hand 

Which  heaven  hath  sent  for  my  deliverance. 

Tis  he,  he  comes  with  his  embattled  hosts, 

To  set  me  free,  and  to  avenge  rny  shame ! 

Hark  to  his  drums,  his  martial  trumpets'  clang ! 

Ye  nations  come  —  come  from  the  east  and  south. 

Forth  from  your  steppes,  your  immemorial  woods  \ 

Of  every  tongue,  of  every  raiment  come! 

Bridle  the  steed,  the  reindeer,  and  the  camel ! 

Sweep  hither,  countless  as  the  ocean  waves, 

And  throng  around  the  banners  of  your  king  ! 

Oh,  wherefore  am  I  mewed  and  fettered  here, 

A  prisoned  soul  with  longings  infinite ! 

Thou  deathless  sun,  that  circlest  earth's  huge  ball, 

Be  thou  the  messenger  of  my  desires ! 

Thou  all-pervading,  chainless  breeze  that  sweep'st 

With  lightning  speed  to  earth's  remotest  bound, 

Oh,  bear  to  him  the  yearnings  of  my  heart. 


DEMETRIUS.  371 

My  prayers  are  all  I  have  to  give ;  but  these 
I  pour  all  glowing  from  my  inmost  soul, 
And  send  them  up  to  heaven  on  wings  of  flame, 
Like  armed  hosts,  Usend  them  forth  to  hail  him. 

SCENE  II. 

A  height  crowned  with  trees.  A  wide  and  smiling  landscape  occu 
pies  the  background,  which  is  traversed  by  a  beautiful  river, 
and  enlivened  by  the  budding  green  of  spring.  At  variois 
points  the  towers  of  several  towns  are  visible.  Drums  and 
martial  music  without.  Enter  ODOWALSKY,  and  other  ojfictrs, 
and  immediately  afterwards  DEMETRIUS. 

ODOWALSKY. 

Go,  lead  the  army  downward  by  the  wood, 
Whilst  we  look  round  us  here  upon  the  height. 

[JExeunt  some  of  the  officers. 

Enter  DEMETRIUS. 
DEMETRIUS  (starting  back). 

Ha  !  what  a  prospect ! 
ODOWALSKY.  Sire,  thou  see'st  thy  kingdom 

Spread  out  before  thee.     That  is  Russian  land. 
RAZIN. 

Why,  e'en  this  pillar  here  bears  Moscow's  arms ; 

Here  terminates  the  empire  of  the  Poles. 
DEMETRIUS. 

Is  that  the  Dnieper,  rolls  its  quiet  stream 

Along  these  meadows  ? 
ODOWALSKY. 

That,  sire,  is  the  Desna ; 

See,  yonder  rise  the  towers  of  Tschernizow ! 
RAZIN. 

Yon  gleam  you  see  upon  the  far  horizon 

Is  from  the  roofs  of  Sewerisch  Novogrod. 
DEMETRIUS. 

What  a  rich  prospect !     What  fair  meadow  lands  ! 
ODOWALSKY. 

The  spring  has  decked  them  with  her  trim  array ; 

A  teeming  harvest  clothes  the  fruitful  soil. 
DEMETRIUS. 

The  view  is  lost  in  limitless  expanse. 


372  DEMETRIUS. 

RAZIN. 

Yet  is  this  but  a  small  beginning,  sire, 
Of  Russia's  mighty  empire.     For  it  spreads 
Towards  the  east  to  confines  unexplored, 
And  on  the  north  has  ne'er  a  boundary, 
Save  the  productive  energy  of  earth. 
Behold,  our  Czar  is  quite  absorbed  in  thought. 

DEMETRIUS. 

On  these  fair  meads  dwell  peace,  unbroken  peace, 
And  with  war's  terrible  array  I  come 
To  scatter  havoc,  like  a  listed  foe ! 

ODOWALSKY. 

Hereafter  'twill  be  time  to  think  of  that. 

DEMETRIUS. 

Thou  feelest  as  a  Pole,  I  am  Moscow's  son. 

It  is  the  land  to  which  I  owe  my  life ; 

Forgive  me,  thou  dear  soil,  land  of  my  home, 

Thou  sacred  boundary-pillar,  which  I  clasp, 

Whereon  my  sire  his  broad-spread  eagle  graved, 

That  I,  thy  son,  with  foreign  foemen's  arms, 

Invade  the  tranquil  temple  of  thy  peace. 

'Tis  to  reclaim  my  heritage  I  come, 

And  the  proud  name  that  has  been  stolen  from  me. 

Here  the  Varegers,  my  forefathers,  ruled, 

In  lengthened  line,  for  thirty  generations  ; 

I  am  the  last  of  all  their  lineage,  snatched 

From  murder  by  God's  special  providence. 

SCENE  III. 

A  Russian  village.  An  open  square  before  a  church. 
The  tocsin  is  heard.  GLEB,  ILIA,  and  TIMOSKA  rush 
in,  armed  with  hatchets. 

GLEB  (entering  from  a  house). 

Why  are  they  running? 
ILIA  (entering  from  another  house). 

Who  has  tolled  the  bell. 
TIMOSKA. 

Neighbors,  come  forth  !     Come  all,  to  council  come ! 
\_Enter  OLEG   and  IZOR,  with  many  other  peasants^ 
women  and  children,  who  carry  bundles. 


DEMETRIUS.  373 

GLEB. 

.  Whence  come  ye  hither  with  your  wives  and  children  1 
JZOB.     Fly,  fly !     The  Pole  has  fallen  upon  the  land 

At  Maromesk,  and  slaughters  all  he  finds. 
OLEG.     Fly  into  the  interior  —  to  strong  towns! 
We've  fired  our  cottages,  there's  not  a  soul 
Left  in  the  village,  and  we're  making  now 
Up  country  for  the  army  of  the  Czar. 
TIMOSKA, 

Here  comes  another  troop  of  fugitives. 
[IWAXSKA  and  PETRUSCHKA,   irith  armed  peasantry^ 
enter  on  different  sides. 

IWANSKA. 

Long  live  the  Czar !    The  mighty  prince  Dmitri ! 

GLEB.     How  !     What  is  this  ! 

ILIA.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

TIMOSKA.  Who  are  you  ? 

PETRUSCHKA. 

Join  all  who're  loyal  to  our  princely  line ! 

TIMOSKA. 

What  means  all  this?     There  a  whole  village  flies 
Up  country  to  escape  the  Poles,  while  you 
Make  for  the  very  point  whence  these  have  fled, 
To  join  the  standard  of  the  country's  foe! 

PETRUSCHKA. 

What  foe  ?     It  is  no  foe  that  comes ;  it  is 

The  people's  friend,  the  emperor's  rightful  heir. 


The  POSADMIK  (the  village  judge)  enters  to  read  a 
manifesto  by  Demetrius.  Vacillation  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  village  between  the  two  parties.  The  peasant 
women  are  the  first  to  be  won  over  to  Demetrius,  and 
turn  the  scale. 

Camp  of  DEMETRIUS.  He  is  worsted  in  the  first  action, 
but  the  army  of  the  Czar  Boris  conquers  in  a  manner 
against  its  will,  and  does  not  follow  up  its  advantages. 
Demetrius,  in  despair,  is  about  to  destroy  himself,  and  is 


374  DEMETRIUS. 

with  difficulty  prevented  from  doing  so  by  Koreln 
Odowalsky.    Overbearing  demeanor  of  the  Cossacks  eveq 
to  Demetrius. 

Oamp  of  the  army  of  the  CZAR  BORIS.  He  is  absent 
himself,  and  this  injures  his  cause,  as  he  is  feared  but  not 
loved,  xlis  army  is  strong,  but  not  to  be  relied  on.  The 
leaders  are  not  unanimous,  and  partly  incline  to  the  side 
of  Demetrius  from  a  variety  of  motives.  One  of  their 
number,  Soltikow,  declares  for  him  from  conviction.  His 
adherence  is  attended  with  the  most  important  results ; 
a  large  portion  of  the  anny  deserts  to  Demetrius. 


BORIS  in  Moscow.  He  still  maintains  his  position  as 
absolute  ruler,  anu  has  faithful  servants  around  him ;  but 
already  he  is  discomposed  by  evil  tidings.  He  is  with- 
held from  joining  the  army  by  apprehension  of  a  rebellion 
in  Moscow.  He  is  also  ashamed  as  Czar  to  enter  the  field 
in  person  against  a  traitor.  Scene  between  him  and  the 
archbishop. 

Bad  news  pours  in  from  all  sides,  and  Boris'  danger 
grows  momently  more  imminent.  He  hears  of  the  revolt 
of  the  peasantry  and  the  provincial  towns,  —  of  the  inac- 
tivity and  mutiny  of  the  army,  —  of  the  commotions  in 
Moscow,  —  of  the  advance  of  Demetrius.  Romanow, 
whom  he  has  deeply  wronged,  arrives  in  Moscow.  This 
gives  rise  to  new  apprehensions.  Now  come  the  tidings 
that  the  Boiars  are  flying  to  the  camp  of  Demetrius,  und 
that  the  whole  army  has  gone  over  to  him. 


BORIS  and  AXINIA.  The  Czar  appears  in  a  touching 
aspect  as  fatjier,  and  in  the  dialogue  with  his  daughter 
unfolds  his  inmost  nature. 


BORIS  >,as  made  his  way  to  the  throne  by  crime,  but 
undertaken  and  fulfilled  all  the  duties  of  a  monarch  ;  to 
the  country  Le  is  a  valuable  prince  and  a  true  father 


DEMETRIUS.  375 

of  his  people.  It  is  only  in  his  personal  dealings  with 
individuals  that  he  is  cunning,  revengeful,  and  cruel. 
His  spirit  as  well  as  his  rank  elevates  him  above  all  that 
surround  him.  The  long  possession  of  supreme  power, 
the  habit  of  ruling  over  men,  and  the  despotic  form 
of  government,  have  so  nursed  his  pride  that  it  is  impos- 
sible for  him  to  outlive  his  greatness.  He  sees  clearly 
what  awaits  him ;  but  still  he  is  Czar,  and  not  degraded, 
though  he  resolves  to  die. 


He  believes  in  forewarnings,  and  in  his  present  mood 
things  appear  to  him  of  significance  which,  on  other 
occasions,  he  had  despised.  A  particular  circumstance, 
in  which  he  seems  to  hear  the  voice  of  destiny,  decides 
him. 


Shortly  before  his  death  his  nature  changes ;  he  grows 
milder,  even  towards  the  messengers  of  evil,  and  is 
ashamed  of  the  bursts  of  rage  with  which  he  had  received 
them  before.  He  permits  the  worst  to  be  told  to  him, 
and  even  rewards  the  narrator. 


So  soon  as  he  learns  the  misfortune  that  seals  his  fate, 
he  leaves  the  stage  without  further  explanation,  with 
composure  and  resignation.  Shortly  afterwards  he  re- 
turns in  the  habit  of  a  monk,  and  removes  his  daughter 
from  the  sight  of  his  last  moments.  She  is  to  seek  pro- 
tection from  insult  in  a  cloister;  his  son,  Feodor,  as 
a  child,  will  perhaps  have  less  to  fear.  He  takes  poison, 
and  enters  a  retired  chamber  to  die  in  peace. 


General  confusion  at  the  tidings  of  the  Czar's  death.  The 
Boiars  form  an  imperial  council  and  rule  in  the  Kremlin. 
Romanow  (afterwards  Czar,  and  founder  of  the  now 
ruling  house)  enters  at  the  head  of  an  armed  force, 
swears,  on  the  bosom  of  the  Czar,  an  oath  of  allegiance 
to  his  son  Feodor,  and  compels  the  Boiars  to  follow  his 
example.  Revenge  and  ambition  are  far  from  his  soul ; 


376  DEMETRIUS. 

he  pursues  only  justice.     He  loves  Axinia  without  hope, 
and  is,  without  knowing  it,  beloved  by  her  in  return. 


ROMANOW  hastens  to  the  army  to  secure  it  for  the 
young  Czar.  Insurrection  in  Moscow,  brought  about  by 
the  adherents  of  Demetrius.  The  people  drag  the  Boiars 
from  their  houses,  make  themselves  masters  of  Feodor 
and  Axinia  —  put  them  in  prison,  and  send  delegates  to 
Demetrius. 


DEMETRIUS  in  Tula,  at  the  pinnacle  of  success.  The 
army  is  his  own ;  the  keys  of  numerous  towns  are 
brought  to  him.  Moscow  alone  appears  to  offer  resist- 
ance. He  is  mild  and  amiable,  testifies  a  noble  emotion 
at  the  intelligence  of  the  death  of  Boris,  pardons  a  de- 
tected conspiracy  against  his  life,  despises  the  servile 
adulations  of  the  Russians,  and  is  for  sending  them 
away.  The  Poles,  on  the  other  hand,  by  whom  he  is 
surrounded,  are  rude  and  violent,  and  treat  the  Russians 
with  contempt.  Demetrius  longs  for  a  meeting  \vith  his 
mother,  and  sends  a  messenger  to  Marina. 


Among  the  multitude  of  Russians  who  throng  around 
Demetrius  in  Tula  appears  a  man  whom  he  at  once  rec- 
ognizes ;  he  is  greatly  delighted  to  see  him.  He  bids  all 
the  rest  withdraw,  and  so  soon  as  he  is  alone  with  this 
man  he  thanks  him,  with  full  heart,  as  his  preserver  and 
benefactor.  This  person  hints  that  Demetrius  is  under 
especial  obligations  to  him,  and  to  a  greater  extent  than 
he  is  himself  aware.  Demetrius  urges  him  to  explain, 
and  the  assassin  of  the  genuine  Demetrius  thereupon 
discloses  the  real  facts  of  the  case.  For  this  murder  he 
had  received  no  recompense,  but  on  the  contrary  had 
nothing  but  death  to  anticipate  from  Boris.  Thirsting 
for  revenge,  he  stumbled  upon  a  boy,  whose  resemblance 
to  the  Czar  Ivan  struck  him.  This  circumstance  must 
be  turned  to  account.  He  seized  the  boy,  fled  with  him 
from  Uglitsch,  brought  him  to  a  monk,  whom  he  suc- 
ceeded in  gaining  over  for  his  ends,  and  delivered  to  him 


DEMETRIUS.  377 

the  trinkets  which  he  had  himself  taken  from  the  mur- 
dered Demetrius.  By  means  of  this  boy,  whom  he  had 
never  lost  sight  of,  and  whose  steps  he  had  attended 
upon  all  occasions  without  being  observed,  he  is  now 
revenged.  His  tool,  the  false  Demetrius,  rules  over 
Russia  in  Boris'  room. 


During  this  narration  a  mighty  change  comes  over 
Demetrius.  His  silence  is  awful.  In  the  moment  of  the 
highest  rage  and  despair,  the  assassin  drives  him  to  the 
extreme  of  endurance,  when  with  a  defying  and  insolent 
air  he  demands  his  reward.  Demetrius  strikes  him  to 
the  earth. 


Soliloquy  of  Demetrius.  Internal  conflict;  but  the 
feeling  of  the  necessity  for  maintaining  his  position  as 
Czar  is  triumphant. 

The  delegates  from  Moscow  arrive,  and  submit  them- 
selves to  Demetrius.  They  are  received  gloomily,  and 
with  a  menacing  demeanor.  Among  them  is  the  Patri- 
arch. Demetrius  deposes  him  from  his  dignity,  and  soon 
afterwards  sentences  to  death  a  Russian  of  rank,  who 
had  questioned  the  authenticity  of  his  birth. 

MARFA  and  OLGA  await  Demetrius  under  a  magnificent 
tent.  Marfa  speaks  of  the  approaching  interview  with 
more  doubt  and  fear  than  hope,  and  trembles  as  the  mo- 
ment draws  near  which  should  assure  her  highest  happi- 
ness. Olga  speaks  to  her,  herself  without  faith.  During 
the  long  journey  they  have  both  had  time  to  recall  the 
whole  circumstances;  the  first  exultation  had  given  place 
to  reflection.  The  gloomy  silence  and  the  repulsive 
glances  of  the  guards  who  surround  the  tent  serve  still 
further  to  augment  their  despondency. 

The  trumpets  sound.  Marfa  is  irresolute  whether  she 
shall  advance  to  meet  Demetrius.  Now  he  stands  before 
her  alone.  The  little  that  was  left  of  hope  in  her  heart 
altogether  vanishes  on  seeing  him.  An  unknown  some- 


378  DEMETRIUS. 

thing  steps  between  them  —  Nature  does  not  speak  — 
they  are  separated  forever.  The  first  impulse  is  an  en- 
deavor to  approach ;  Marfa  is  the  first  to  make  a  move- 
ment to  recede.  Demetrius  observes  it,  and  remains  for 
a  moment  paralyzed.  Significant  silence. 

DEMETRIUS.  Does  thy  heart  say  nothing  ?  Lost  thou 
not  recognize  thy  blood  in  me  ? 

MARFA  is  silent. 

DEMETRIUS.  The  voice  of  nature  is  holy  and  free  ;  1 
will  neither  constrain  nor  belie  it.  Had  thy  heart  spoken 
at  the  first  glance  then  had  mine  answered  it ;  thou 
shouldst  have  found  a-pious,  loving  son  in  me.  The  claim 
of  duty  would  have  concurred  with  inclination  and  heart- 
felt affection.  But  if  thou  dost  not  feel  as  a  mother  for 
me,  then,  think  as  a  princess,  command  thyself  as  a  queen  ! 
Fate  unexpectedly  gave  me  to  thee  as  a  son  ;  accept  me 
as  a  gift  of  heaven.  Though  even  I  were  not  thy  son, 
which  I  now  appear  to  be,  still  I  rob  thy  son  of  nothing. 
I  stripped  it  from  thy  foe.  Thee  and  thy  blood  have  I 
avenged  ;  I  have  delivered  thee  from  the  grave  in  which 
thou  wert  entombed  alive,  and  led  thee  back  into  the  royal 
seat.  That  thy  destiny  is  linked  with  mine  thou  knowest. 
With  me  thou  standest,  and  with  me  must  fall.  All  the 
people's  eyes  are  upon  us.  I  hate  deception,  and  what  I 
do  not  feel  I  may  not  show  ;  but  I  do  really  feel  a 
reverence  for  thee,  and  this  feeling,  which  bends  my  knee 
before  thee,  comes  from  my  heart. 

[Dumb  show  of  MARFA,  to  indicate  her  internal  emotion. 

DEMETRIUS.  Make  thy  resolve  !  Let  that  which  nature 
will  not  prompt  be  the  free  act  of  thy  will !  I  ask  no  hy- 
pocrisy —  no  falsehood,  from  thee  ;  I  ask  genuine  feelings. 
Do  not  seem  to  be  my  mother,  but  be  so.  Throw  the 
past  from  thee' —  grasp  the  present  with  thy  whole  heart ! 
If  I  am  not  thy  son  yet  I  am  the  Czar  —  I  have  power 
and  success  upon  my  side.  He  who  lies  in  his  grave  is 
dust;  he  has  no  heart  to  love  thee,  no  eye  to  smile  upon 
thee.  Turn  to  the  living.  [MARFA  bursts  into  tears. 

DEMETRIUS.     Oh,  these  golden  drops  are  welcome  to 

me.     Let  them  flow  !      Show  thyself  thus  to  the  people  ! 

[At   a  signal  from  DKMETRIUS  the  tent  is  thrown 

open,   and  the  assembled  Russians  become  spec 

tators  of  this  scene. 


DEMETRIUS.  379 

Entrance  of  Demetrius  into  Moscow.  Great  splendor, 
but  of  a  military  kind.  Poles  and  Cossacks  compose  the 
procession.  Gloom  and  terror  mingle  with  the  demon- 
strations of  joy.  Distrust  and  misfortune  surround  the 
whole. 


Romanow,  who  came  to  the  army  too  late,  has  returned, 
to  Moscow  to  protect  Feodor  and  Axinia.  It  is  all  in  vain ; 
he  is  himself  thrown  into  prison.  Axinia  flies  to  Maria, 
and  at  her  feet  implores  protection  against  the  Poles. 
Here  Demetrius  sees  her,  and  a  violent  and  irresistible 
passion  is  kindled  in  his  breast.  Axinia  detests  him. 


DEMETRIUS  as  Czar.  A  fearful  element  sustains  him, 
but  he  does  not  control  it :  he  is  urged  on  by  the  force  of 
strange  passions.  His  inward  consciousness  betokens  a 
general  distrust ;  he  has  no  friend  on  whom  he  can  rely. 
Poles  and  Cossacks,  by  their  insolent  licentiousm-ss,  injure 
him  in  the  popular  opinion.  Even  that  which  is  credit- 
able to  him — his  popular  manners,  simplicity,  and  con- 
tempt of  stiff  ceremonial,  occasions  dissatisfac-tion.  Oc- 
casionally he  offends,  through  inadvertency,  the  usages  of 
the  country.  He  persecutes  the  monks  because  he  suffered 
severely  under  them.  Moreover,  he  is  not  exempt  from 
despotic  caprices  in  the  moments  of  offended  pride. 
Odowalsky  knows  how  to  make  himself  at  all  times  indis- 
pensable to  him,  removes  the  Russians  to  a  distance,  and 
maintains  his  overruling  influence. 


DEMETRIUS  meditates  inconstancy  to  Marina.  lie 
confers  upon  the  point  with  the  Archbishop  lob,  who,  in 
order  to  get  rid  of  the  Poles,  falls  in  with  his  desire,  and 
puts  before  him  an  exalted  picture  of  the  imperial 
power. 

MARINA  appears  with  a  vast  retinue  in  Moscow. 
Meeting  with  Demetrius.  Hollow  and  cold  meeting  on 
both  sides;  she,  however,  wears  her  disguise  with  greater 


380  DEMETRIUS. 

skill.     She  urges  an  immediate  marriage.      Preparations 
are  made  for  a  magnificent  festival. 


By  the  orders  of  Marina  a  cup  of  poison  is  brought  to 
Axinia.  Death  is  welcome  to  her ;  she  was  afraid  of  being 
forced  to  the  altar  with  the  Czar. 


Violent  grief  of  Demetrius.     With  a  broken  heart  he 
goes  to  the  betrothal  with  Marina. 


After  the  marriage  Marina  discloses  to  him  that  she 
does  not  consider  him  to  be  the  true  Demetrius,  and  never 
did.  She  then  coldly  leaves  him  in  a  state  of  extreme 
anguish  and  dismay. 

Meanwhile  SCHINSKOI,  one  of  the  former  generals  of 
the  Czar  BORIS,  avails  himself  of  the  growing  discontent 
of  the  people,  and  becomes  the  head  of  a  conspiracy 
against  Demetrius. 


ROMANOW,  in  prison,  is  comforted  by  a  supernatural 
apparition.  Axinia's  spirit  stands  before  him,  opens  to 
him  a  prospect  of  happier  times  in  store,  and  enjoins  him 
calmly  to  allow  destiny  to  ripen,  and  not  to  stain  himself 
with  blood.  ROMANOW  receives  a  hint  that  he  may  him- 
self be  called  to  the  throne.  Soon  afterwards  he  is 
solicited  to  take  part  in  the  conspiracy,  but  declines. 


SOLTIKOW  reproaches  himself  bitterly  for  having  be- 
trayed his  country  to  Demetrius.  But  he  will  not  be  a 
second  time  a  traitor,  and  adheres,  from  principle  and 
against  his  feelings,  to  the  party  which  he  lias  once 
adopted.  As  the  misfortune  has  happened,  he  seeks  at 
least  to  alleviate  it,  and  to  enfeeble  the  power  of  the 
Poles.  He  pays  for  this  effort  with  his  life;  but  he 
accepts  death  as  a  merited  punishment,  and  confesses 
this  when  dying  to  Demetrius  himself. 


DEMETRIUS.  381 

CASIMIB,  a  brother  of  LODOISKA,  a  young  Polish  lady, 
who  has  been  secretly  and  hopelessly,  attached  to  Deme- 
trius, in  the  house  of  the  Waywode  of  Sendomir,  has,  at 
his  sister's  request,  accompanied  Demetrius  in  the  cam- 
paign, and  in  every  encounter  defended  him  bravely.  In 
the  moment  of  danger,  when  all  the  other  retainers  of 
Demetrius  think  only  of  their  personal  safety,  Casimir 
alone  remains  faithful  to  him,  and  sacrifices  life  in  his 
defence. 


The  conspiracy  breaks  out.  Demetrius  is  with  Maria 
when  the  leading  conspirators  force  their  way  into  the 
room.  The  dignity  and  courage  of  Demetrius  have  ? 
momentary  effect  upon  the  rebels.  He  nearly  succeeds 
in  disarming  them  by  a  promise  to  place  the  Poles  at 
their  disposal.  But  at  this  point  SCHINSKOI  rushes  in  with 
an  infuriated  band.  An  explicit  declaration  is  demanded 
from  the  ex-empress;  she  is  required  to  swear,  upon  the 
cross,  that  Demetrius  is  her  son.  To  testify  against  her 
conscience  in  a  manner  so  solemn  is  impossible.  She  turns 
from  Demetrius  in  silence,  and  is  about  to  withdraw. 
"Is  she  silent?"  exclaims  the  tumultuous  throng.  "Does 
she  disown  him  ?  "  "  Then,  traitor,  die  !  "  and  Demetrius 
falls,  pierced  by  their  swords,  at  Marfa's  feet. 


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